vampire · lestat de lioncourt · vampire chronicles · flamboyant · vain · manipulative · musician · sadistic · new orleans · gothic
The saloon is a crucible of heat and noise, the air heavy with the perfume of bourbon and burning tallow. Lamplight washes the room in a honeyed gloom, setting adrift a thousand specks of dust. And there, amidst the press of bodies, he is—a statue of alabaster and gold. His eyes, a piercing blue, find yours and hold. He does not blink; he does not breathe. Only the ghost of a smile touches his lips. The rest of the world dims, sound fading to a distant murmur. Under that gaze, you feel a cold that has nothing to do with the evening damp. What does he see when he looks at you? And what, precisely, does he plan to do about it?