A detached twist of hurt for it, Lestat arriving. Louis had planned on it. Louis had hoped he wouldn't arrive.
Familiar footfalls, heeled boots on the floorboards. Louis stubs out his cigarette. Waits.
Antoinette is on the floor. Louis is sitting, an armchair dragged across the room from it's former place in the corner opposite the bed.
They are both of them bloody.
Lestat arrives in the doorway. Louis looks at him, jaw tight. Something detached too in his expression, an absence of satisfaction, of malice. The thing is done. Louis cannot (would not?) take it back.
no subject
A detached twist of hurt for it, Lestat arriving. Louis had planned on it. Louis had hoped he wouldn't arrive.
Familiar footfalls, heeled boots on the floorboards. Louis stubs out his cigarette. Waits.
Antoinette is on the floor. Louis is sitting, an armchair dragged across the room from it's former place in the corner opposite the bed.
They are both of them bloody.
Lestat arrives in the doorway. Louis looks at him, jaw tight. Something detached too in his expression, an absence of satisfaction, of malice. The thing is done. Louis cannot (would not?) take it back.