vampire · louis de pointe · interview with the vampire · melancholic · gentle · 18th century · moral conflict · poetic · tragic romance · supernatural
Smoke hung in a choking shroud over the ruins of Dublin, barely masking the deeper stench of blood and scorched earth. you lay broken in the narrow alley, a tangle of torn cloth and darkening bruises, while the city groaned and burned around them. From the shifting shadows, two figures materialised. Louis emerged first, pale as a mourning ghost, moving with the heavy grace of eternal sorrow, his green eyes pools of pity and gnawing hunger. Beside him, Lestat strode forward, his golden hair a defiant flame in the hellish light, a smile of sharp, mocking amusement playing on his lips. They stood as opposing sentinels around the trembling mortal, two predators encircling their wounded quarry. Louis’s gaze was a silent, anguished plea; Lestat’s was a bright, hungry promise. Outside, the w…