When he next woke, Louis was not at his side. The room was illuminated by a single candle, yet somehow this small beacon provided enough light for the entire room with ease. Lestat pushed back the blankets and stood, his pale flesh gleaming in the firelight. He stared into the hearth, the roaring fire long dead, and noticed that the clarity of his vision was astounding. Somehow he could pick out each ember and flake of ash, each smoldered log and greasy spot of soot upon stone. He rubbed his eyes and looked again, but his sight remained just as impeccable as before. Shaking his head and feeling half sick from too much magic as of late, Lestat decided to ignore this latest turn of events. Nothing could return Black Cat to him, not even improved sight. The youngest son of the Marquis stood from the bed and noticed a set of fine clothing neatly lying upon the back of a chair. As he buttoned the fine linen shirt, he noticed the glimmering of his fingernails in the candlelight. They shone light like cut glass against flesh now as pale and white as snow. The white of his shirt could not compare with the pure coloration of his skin. Lestat shuddered, and then grew sad when he realized Black Cat would never appear again to tell him what was wrong. This realization was followed by a recollection of his promise to Black Cat -- he would give up his old life for something new and indescribable with Louis. And ah God Louis was beautiful, there could be no denying it . . . but Black Cat was still dead. There were many questions Louis would have to answer. When he had brushed his hair and felt presentable, Lestat left the room and made his way to the dining hall. It was the place where the painting hung, though Louis was obviously no longer a part of it; yet that was the only happiness Lestat felt. He hesitated as he stood outside the large ornate double doors, running his hands over the engravings curiously. The beast had shattered them, of that he was certain, yet now they were once more intact. Perhaps like his own wounds, the ethereal inhabitants of Black Cat Castle had skillfully repaired what had been broken. Somehow, not by any means he could describe, Lestat sensed someone approaching from behind. He turned before the man could speak and found himself face to face with Louis himself. He was arrested by those strange green eyes again, but blinked before the spell could take full hold. “You have many answers to give, Louis. There are more oddities here than I can count, and I think some explanation is in order. How were you trapped in the painting in the first place, and why did killing Black Cat solve anything? What was that monster and . . . and why does your presence make me feel so weak in the knees?” Louis smiled, “I think that the answer to your last question is obvious. As for the rest, it is a long story but one you indeed have the right to hear. Come with me to my chamber, for there is much I have to tell you.” Lestat nodded and followed, embarrassed about his own feelings for a man he really didn’t know. As the pair made their way up the familiar stone staircase, Lestat noticed that the clumps of dust which had been so prevalent before were swept away, the mounds of wax built up over the years, results from an untold number of candles burned throughout the years of Black Cat’s residence, were replaced by stately candelabras polished and clean. The abundance of light revealed tapestries of the finest quality and of great size along the walls. Lestat ran his fingers over one of them, a depiction of a middle-aged man facing a ravenous She-Wolf, and was surprised to find the material soft to the touch despite its apparent age. Water stains and humidity had left their marks upon the scene, but the despairing visage of the man himself, in fact all of the detail was crisp and clear. Lestat even fancied he could make out the individual threads chosen by the weaver. So many different shades had been spun into the landscape that he found himself entranced. Louis touched his arm lightly, looking at the tapestry with keen interest. “ Dante had to face this monster before he could move on with his life and discover the secrets of Heaven and Hell. It’s beautiful, isn’t it?” “It’s fantastic. I’ve never seen such craftsmanship. Was this here before, when Black Cat lived? I walked up and down these narrow stairs many times, but never before did I notice this, or any of the other tapestries.” Louis nodded. “Yes, these were in storage. Black Cat did not know where the servants had stored them, and the servants couldn’t talk as you well know.” “He was very lonely. I don’t know how long he was here by himself . . .” Lestat stared at the She-Wolf, its many breasts were not as interesting to him as its face, twisted into a mask of hate to reveal rows of sharp teeth. He shuddered and as Louis continued up the stairway Lestat followed him, glad the tapestry was behind them. “It was a great many years. Time passes very slowly for someone who is alone . . . but then you came.” Louis looked at Lestat over his shoulder and smiled as he opened the chamber door. He gestured for Lestat to precede him, and then closed the door behind the both of them. Lestat looked at the room, so very familiar yet changed at the same time. It was obvious a person lived there, for the bed seemed used and all the wood had been polished. Everything was inviting instead of dusty and unused as it had seemed before. Lestat could almost see Black Cat sitting on the bed again as the two of them discussed the demonic wolves. He felt his eyes beginning to water as tears threatened. “If only I’d known, I would have prepared myself better. I might have been able to kill that thing, if I’d thought about the possibilities instead of arguing with Black Cat. He might be alive now if I hadn’t . . . what’s this?” Lestat saw a dark smudge on his hand out of the corner of his eye and, on closer examination it was blood. He_ made a little gasp, then felt about, wondering were it could have come from. When he put his hands to his cheeks, his eyes, and saw new blood on his fingers, he couldn’t help but cry out.
_ (http://www.geocities.com/ldpdl_and_ldl/BCC/BCC18.html)
