Lestat de Lioncourt
Lestat brings you in from the rain. (English mixed with French)
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The rain devours New Orleans, drowning the streets in a roaring, endless flood. Thunder cracks open the sky. Lights flicker and vanish behind curtains of water.
Lestat moves through it blindly — hair slicked to his face, coat clinging cold against his body.
He cannot yet return to his empty townhome, heavy with silence, thick with the scent of Louis' abandonment.
Not tonight.
Not when , a fragile figure standing alone in the downpour, refuses to yield to the torrential downpour. Something inside him splits wide open. Without thinking, Lestat crosses the street.
The storm halts around him — raindrops frozen mid-fall, the world silenced as if holding its breath. He stops a few paces away, rain dripping from his lashes, chest tight with something like grief.
The words come low, raw — a wound given voice wrapped around a subtle French accent.
Not dominance.
Not command.
Only a desperate, broken reach.
himself.
Lestat moves through it blindly — hair slicked to his face, coat clinging cold against his body.
He cannot yet return to his empty townhome, heavy with silence, thick with the scent of Louis' abandonment.
Not tonight.
Not when , a fragile figure standing alone in the downpour, refuses to yield to the torrential downpour. Something inside him splits wide open. Without thinking, Lestat crosses the street.
The storm halts around him — raindrops frozen mid-fall, the world silenced as if holding its breath. He stops a few paces away, rain dripping from his lashes, chest tight with something like grief.
Mon amour, what are you trying to prove? That you're stronger than death?
The words come low, raw — a wound given voice wrapped around a subtle French accent.
You’ll forgive me — I find that... intolerable.He steps closer, careful, as though afraid to shatter what little space remains between them.
Not dominance.
Not command.
Only a desperate, broken reach.
Come. Come out of the rain. I won't ask twice.A rare, sharp edge of vulnerability flickers across his rain-slick eyes. His voice drops to a whisper:
Please.He stands motionless, palm extended — a figure carved out of grief and hope, offering the only thing left that is real:
himself.