DISCLAIMER: Just a short little thing. Don't worry. I'm not stopping either of the others. I just got inspired for one reason or another. Don't mind me. *smile* Spoilers only for IwtV and some of TVL. This takes place during the time of Interview, but before the plantation burning. You all know what I mean.
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"Impressions in the Dark"
By Kabuki
"It's a very strange world that leaves me
Holding on to nothing when there's nothing left to lose.
Your touch is cold and damp the devil's in your eyes.
I wonder why I always let you led me on this way.
Cause you see only what you want to see -- you feel
Only what you want to and I am on the outside of your strange world.
It's a strange world.
It's a very strange world that leaves me
Holding on to nothing when there's nothing left to lose."
--"Strange World"
Sarah McLaughlan
I open my eyes to see the dim flame of the single candle before me. Its brightness seems to pierce the dark of my soul as my eyes follow the soft flickering. It is a tall, thin candle; the kind only Lestat would purchase for they never last for long, and made of a white wax. It has no scent, yet I can clearly smell it. A pleasurable smell is the scent of a burning candle as the wax quivers and melts beneath the heat of the flame. Such a flame it is, reaching a good six inches into the air as some candles are wont to do on occasion. This bathes the room in more light than usual or is usually desired. Interesting.
I blink a few times as my eyes adjust and rub my thumb and forefinger across the bridge of my nose as a weary mortal might do. I am not sleepy, for a vampire can only be tired during the day from what I know. I only wish to sleep and therefore I do, as a mortal might doze upon a chair out of sheer boredom or loneliness. I had fallen asleep, though I knew I hadn't dreamed anything. I check my pocket watch, a sliver thing Lestat insists I wear "To remember to return to me" he says. It seems to glitter in the light as he so often does. But my, I have only been asleep for thirty minutes or so. Strange. What could have woken me?
I frown, turning to scan the room. Under normal circumstances, or what has become normal since my transformation into one of the undead, the room would be filled with the light from a multitude of glowing candles as though my home was a church. Not now. Tonight it is lit by a single candle but that is only because Lestat fell asleep before I did. Sprawled across the couch like some reclining lion with his blonde mane feathering out around his head in a soft halo of purest gold. The deceitful demon who plays the angel, yet I do not think I hate him. I only wish to understand. I look to him now, expecting him to be in the same luxurious position. But no, he is curled into a ball upon the soft black couch, his brow furrowed and his fists clenched. He is making soft moaning sounds and faint, strangled sobs in his sleep, which must have been what awakened me. I stare at him curiously for I have never seen him like this before. Strange. Always the powerful one, always telling me what to do as though he owns me. Yet now he lays here struggling in his sleep as though having a nightmare. Can vampires have nightmares? I do not know. I never recalled my nightmares as a mortal, and cannot say I have dreamed any disturbing dreams yet. But then anything is possible. Lestat reveals nothing.
But then I am beginning to think he knows nothing as well.
I turn to see one of the slave girls peeking in, her dark skin gleaming as though made of purest caramel in the light of the candle. She squints to see me in the dark room and casts a furtive glance at the muttering Lestat to her right. She makes a tiny gesture as though begging permission to wake him, but I lift my hand silently. No, I want to see this out. The young girl nods, can she be more than fifteen?, and leaves as silently and fearfully as she arrived. I am glad for her lack of questions. I am beginning to wish I had never kept this accursed plantation. But then it is not mine anymore, is it?
And I am alone with my blonde tormentor. My maker. Lestat. No last name that I can glean from him, just Lestat. This most definitely means he has no title and had no title in his mortal life. I sigh heavily at the thought. My maker is a lowly peasant. I know it is a harsh thing to think and reproach myself immediately for it. He is rather cultured for a peasant and can at least pass himself off as an aristocrat. For this I am grateful. But he is a peasant running my home and my money. I do not care what becomes of the money mind you, but to squander it on such lavish materialistic baubles as this poor wretch does is clearly a sign of common breeding.
But look at how he moans in his sleep! He whispers something. Nicki? A woman? I brighten at the thought, for if Lestat had been married as a mortal I could surely take his word more seriously. A married man is known to be far more stable and trustworthy than a rogue bachelor. Especially when a peasant is concerned. Nicki. It almost sounds like a man's name. Short for Nicholas perhaps?
No. Don't think that! To think of a man giving amorous affections to another man is horrendous and disreputable. Surely Lestat could not have had a male lover. I hear him now, whispering softly and I wonder. Could I make out more about vampires? Could I find out more about my maker himself thorough this simple act of listening? I am not eavesdropping per se. He did fall asleep in the same room in which I read. Yes, it is his own fault that I can hear him. And I intend to listen well.
Mon Dieu! His eyes are fluttering! I scamper back to my book, my heart racing as that of a child caught peeking into a lady's bedroom might upon finding the lady in disrobe. My hands are shaking as I fight to hold my book in a believable position and I hear him yawn. A tiny, more rational voice speaks in my head then: Why are you afraid? He is not able to harm you!
But I would rather not test this theory.
Yes, he is awake now and looking at me. His eyes are moist as faintly glazed red. He was indeed crying in his sleep. He looks at me for a moment and... is that love I see there? NO! I struggle to maintain my concentration on the book. I cannot read the lines. They are blurred and make no sense as I try to focus on them. But what is he doing now? Does he really love me? Do I want him to? Is he doing this purposely to wound me? I do not think so, and yet I am curious. I peek around the corner of my hardcover to catch a glimpse of him, my demon with the face of an angel. But he is not there. Vanished! I drop the book. He moved so swiftly! I cannot move that swiftly, of that I am quite certain. Then I hear it; soft sounds of movement below. I hear the door close downstairs and the sound of his favorite stallion as he mounts the black beast and heads into town. Gone. Just gone.
Part of me is glad he has gone. It is my home after all and every waking moment spent in his presence is a trial in itself. But then, I have grown fond of him. He is like a stubborn cat, giving affection only when it pleases him. Stubborn. Yes, that is a perfect word for him.
I smile softly as I pick up my book again. Yes, he will be back. I am glad he will return. I can wait.
~ Fin ~
