[ Lestat feels every inch of weight in that ‘we’, and he hears without needing to ask nor expand upon it exactly what Louis means by it. Lestat has always assumed the position of guilt Louis was happy to pin upon him for what happened to Claudia – for her continued existence as well as her unhappiness for it – and though Louis was merely speeding up the inevitable when he almost took her life, he was not guiltless in wanting her nevertheless. Lestat is sure this might be the first time they’ve stood on equal footing when it comes to their shared blame.

He lets out a low, quiet exhalation as something like relief floods his body, a tension he didn’t realise he’d been carrying for centuries leaving him like a bird taking flight; like a child being pushed on a swing, momentarily weightless. ]

Give sorrow words: the grief that does not speak, whispers the o’er fraught heart and bids it break.

[ He presses another kiss to Louis temple, then closes his eyes to press his forehead into his hair and inhale his absence of a scent. Just the gentle perfume of laundering from his suit, the faint coppery tang of the tears, the clinging smoke from candles. ]

Thank you, Louis.