Armand had looked up at Lestat the way Amadeo had looked up at Marius. He did not know how else to look upon someone he loved, someone so fair and confident, someone who pulled him out of the dark. Marius saved him from the horror of the brothel and taught him to be a new person. Lestat saved him from two and a half centuries of horror even worse than of his mortal life. Not on purpose, not like buying a slave to use as a toy, but he had still used Armand like a doll in the end anyway, and it was alright, it was good, because it was what Armand knew. He felt like Amadeo again. He felt like who he had been constructed to be.

A fool. Not just for trusting Lestat, but for putting so much onto a child. But what else was Armand, then? Old, but not in a way that had anything to do with the development that comes with aging. A strange creature grow in the dark. A fungus, luminescent, alive, but not anything worth interacting with. Of course he tried to grow into Lestat, too. Save me from this hell. This pit inside of me, this void that makes me up. Please, please.

Like Lestat says please. Like he says let me go.

'Why would I let you go, child?'

He hadn't looked up at Louis this way. He had known better, after Lestat, and it wasn't in him anymore to lose himself so thoroughly. But he'd tried. Sincerely, he tried. He wanted to still have a part that could be made new again. He pretended, and isn't that close enough?

'No one is coming. There's only you.'