[ There has never been anything quite so miserable as the sight he sees before him, he's sure of that much. The way Armand's body seems to quake with every breath he takes, like he's unsure which one will be the last one he ever takes, makes Lestat sting with an emotion he's never felt for Armand and very rarely feels for anyone else - pity. The last time he'd felt pity he'd made a daughter, and before that he'd made a lover and a mother both doomed to leave him forever. He doesn't allow this kind of feeling, but when he looks at Armand practically covered in blood, clutching some stuffed bear and trying to press his hand to his mouth as if there was any chance in hell that he'd be able to keep those terrible sobs in... Well, he can't help it. ]

Armand, [ He urges as he comes close, a hand falling into his hair, combing the strands flat almost absently as his eyes rake the tatters of his robe and the telltale sickly sweet stench of a wet, hot, sticky wound oozing ichor. ] Armand, let me look at you. Mon dieu, what did they do to you? They were so strong, I couldn't-

[ Lestat presses a cool palm to Armand's cheek, turning his face a little to investigate the damage, then raises himself so that he can peer over his shoulder at the tatters left of the skin on his back. It looks like something has ruptured out of him, torn straight from his spine, and its enough to have Lestat putting his free hand to his mouth. ]

My god.. Armand...