Lestat draws in a breath, as deep as he cares to allow, and tips a look back to Louis. Fond, despite himself. Sad as well. A myriad of complicated feeling left to flow like a bitter, briny undercurrent, untested, unable to reach for it. He feels like hammered shit, still, and is vaguely disappointed that he thinks Louis has likely rescinded his offer for a second helping of blood.
Last morning, he tasted the sun and didn't burn. He is almost sure of it. He does not want to think of how long it will all be for him, now.
"We love you," he says, in the tone of an explanation, the cadence of je suis désolée. "That is all."
And he takes his weight off the chair, and leaves for his own room.
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Lestat draws in a breath, as deep as he cares to allow, and tips a look back to Louis. Fond, despite himself. Sad as well. A myriad of complicated feeling left to flow like a bitter, briny undercurrent, untested, unable to reach for it. He feels like hammered shit, still, and is vaguely disappointed that he thinks Louis has likely rescinded his offer for a second helping of blood.
Last morning, he tasted the sun and didn't burn. He is almost sure of it. He does not want to think of how long it will all be for him, now.
"We love you," he says, in the tone of an explanation, the cadence of je suis désolée. "That is all."
And he takes his weight off the chair, and leaves for his own room.