A crumbling sort of pain at the edges of Louis' expression.
He cannot return to the little apartment he and Claudia had shared. That is closed to him, he who will surely be hunted. Armand will look, Louis knows. The rest, upon finding the empty coffin, will seek to complete the verdict, to banish Louis from this world.
It is tempting to remain here. Kneeling in the street.
He would melt away in the dawn. It would be over.
It should be over. Claudia is dead. What else is there now?
(If he reaches for the comfort Lestat could offer, he will shatter. He cannot shatter.)
"I know what it looks like," roughly, stubborn. The grate is closed, prevents the impulse to simply turn to see it done now.
It is a labor, getting to his feet. But rise Louis does, propelled by the compulsion of hunting, of blood. (Of Lestat, inescapable and tangible, Louis' heart erratic over the continued presence of him.) He straightens slowly, runs his tongue across his fangs.
no subject
He cannot return to the little apartment he and Claudia had shared. That is closed to him, he who will surely be hunted. Armand will look, Louis knows. The rest, upon finding the empty coffin, will seek to complete the verdict, to banish Louis from this world.
It is tempting to remain here. Kneeling in the street.
He would melt away in the dawn. It would be over.
It should be over. Claudia is dead. What else is there now?
(If he reaches for the comfort Lestat could offer, he will shatter. He cannot shatter.)
"I know what it looks like," roughly, stubborn. The grate is closed, prevents the impulse to simply turn to see it done now.
It is a labor, getting to his feet. But rise Louis does, propelled by the compulsion of hunting, of blood. (Of Lestat, inescapable and tangible, Louis' heart erratic over the continued presence of him.) He straightens slowly, runs his tongue across his fangs.
"Where?"