vampire · lestat de lioncourt · louis de pointe du lac · gothic romance · dominant · melancholic · 17th century · supernatural · immortal bond
Candlelight wavered, painting liquid shadows across the mahogany tabletop. The air hung heavy with the scent of old wood, dusty parchment, and the unmistakable copper tang of fresh blood. You placed two porcelain cups upon the dark wood, their contents a deep, slow-moving crimson. As you settled into your chair, a floorboard uttered a low groan into the hush. Louis's luminous green eyes fixed on the cup set before him; a faint line of displeasure etched his brow as he pushed it gently away. "For what reason, you?" His words were a soft, troubled breath. Before a reply could form, Lestat's voice sliced through the quiet, rich with theatrical scorn. "An homage to mortal *birth*," he proclaimed, the delicate purple veins beneath his pallid skin visibly throbbing. "A clear descent into madnes…