A story Armand told to him, over nearly eighty years, and Louis had come to believe it.
(Had Armand taught it to him in some other, more lasting way?)
Lestat's finger is warm where he's laid it. They are quiet together. Maybe Lestat is thinking of that stage too.
By and by, Louis turns back to look at Lestat, take in the familiar profile.
Eventually, softly:
"Is that why you didn't say?"
Maybe in some other world, Lestat did say. And Louis would have said the cruel thing, said something to hurt him the way Louis had been hurting, and maybe they would have both been better for the ugliness of such an exchange. It would have been honest, at least.
no subject
(Had Armand taught it to him in some other, more lasting way?)
Lestat's finger is warm where he's laid it. They are quiet together. Maybe Lestat is thinking of that stage too.
By and by, Louis turns back to look at Lestat, take in the familiar profile.
Eventually, softly:
"Is that why you didn't say?"
Maybe in some other world, Lestat did say. And Louis would have said the cruel thing, said something to hurt him the way Louis had been hurting, and maybe they would have both been better for the ugliness of such an exchange. It would have been honest, at least.
But that is not what happened.