Welcome to my blog where you'll find tips and pics and everything else , If you ever wanna know more, just message me. This is mostly where my fanfictions and such go ! (she /her pronouns)( 25 years old) ( RP blog is @whatwedointhemultiverse)
The Bleeding Rouge Dive Bar, Hell's Kitchen, New York
Hidden away from the limelight was a dive bar that catered to the untouchables of New York, vigilantes, assassins, veterans, thugs, and, of course, miscreants like “Frank, you’re back again…” Ezra Wayne, the owner and bartender, had a gentle yet rough look about her, a Marine Veteran turned assassin and weapon dealer. Her steely eyes often betrayed flashes of memories from another life. The shadow of her connection to “That Wayne” walking by was something no one dared to ask about, though stories floated around among the regulars. She never spoke about the time she’d crossed lines with old money and darker secrets of the government, but sometimes her silence around the Wayne name was heavier than words.
Frank Castle, on his tenth return this month, had become as much a fixture as the grime on the walls. Frank had been coming here since Ezra took over, his past with the bar thick with brawls and backroom deals, and rumors whispered that he’d once saved Ezra’s life in a back-alley shootout. She took a few orders, collected tips, and landed right back to Frank, who only grumbled at her, “It’s a bar, am I not allowed in a fuckin bar?”
“Not saying you aren’t, it’s just-”
“Just what…”
“Makes you look like you don’t have a life.” Talking to her fellow Marine vet comrade. Making him a scotch on the rocks, she could tell he had a rough night, his shirt semi-bloody, his nose a bit more crooked, and a bruise definitely from a billy club; he definitely got his ass handed to him, “Do I wanna know…” She asked him as he looked up at her and laughed, handing him an ice pack and drink she watched as he took a sip then gruffly said, “It’s that damn DareDevil and Pink Fury… They won’t stay down!”, He shook his head, “And the broad she packs a fuckin good punch almost like you.” He glanced at her, Ezra wasn’t Pink Fury, however, she knew who was, and they were pretty close too.
“Maybe work with them and not against them?” Leaning over the countertop as Frank rolled his eyes.
“They believe in second chances and I don’t…”
“Which is why you’re pathetically single…” Ezra mumbled as Frank looked at her, She knew why he wouldn’t give dating a chance, she understood it, being a lone wolf was his thing. Watching the world burn was his pastime, but beneath all his pain and vengeance, he was a good guy, like her father. “Let me tell you something I don’t need that bullshit in my life okay!”
“Oh my fucking God stop it!”Ezra groaned,”You at least need to get laid or something! You can’t just hang out here all the time!” She grabbed him by the face, “I love you like a brother and I have five… I think, but you need to get your stress out instead of spraying the block!” Ezra smiled as she pinched his nose.
“Fuck you…”
“No thanks, I like women…” She nearly cackled, then the front door opened and standing there was New Yorks best attorney for criminal, vigilante and superhero law, Yonah Wayne, fixing up her Channel suit she dusted herself trying to look like she hadn’t just won a fight and instead was an the high class Lawyers bar in Manhattan with her ex- boyfriend Matt Murdock, “What’s your weapon tonight sis?” Ezra asked without looking,
“Give me a pink lemonade, two shots of vodka.” She ordered, sitting next to Frank, “You look like shit…” She turned to look at him, “You look like you shouldn’t be here, princess…” He smirked, “You even old enough to drink that?” Meaning no harm whatsoever, and Ezra knew it, she’d been trying to pair them up for a while, with him on her couch when he got too drunk or patching him up after a fight went wrong, and in his case, dropping off lunch at her office when she forgot to pack it herself. “Yes, I am, thank you…” She rolled her eyes at him as he laughed, her eyes fixated on his nose,
“Mind If I…”
“Mind if you wha- DAMNIT!” Frank shouted as she set it back in place, but it felt good right after, “Christ warn me next time.” He shook his head, laughing as Yonah chuckled, “There, now it’s cute again.” She smiled as Ezra noticed a little blush on his cheeks. Her plan was working, “You guys want anything? Food? A room alone.” Yonah flipped her off as she tasted her drink,
“So why are you in this shithole?” Frank asked, “You don’t have some candy ass man waiting on you?”
“Actually, I don’t, the lawyer thing scares them.” Looking over at Frank, her eyes taking in all of his body, she really did a number on him. “Why not Murdock?” He scoffed, saying his name, “Tried that in College… Good Sex, but would debate fake cases afterwards.” She shrugged it off as he nodded, so she was single and smart, but she was young, so much younger than he was, but she was sharp-witted, his hand gravitated near hers, a faint blush on her cheeks as she looked up at him, her eyes shining bright,
“You look tired…”
“I am…”
“They have makeup to cover that… Could match your shade.”
“You got jokes, you think you’re funny.” No bite in his comment as he leaned in closer, their eyes meeting, “Yeah, maybe I do…”
Oh
There it was, the spark, brighter than any flame of fire she’d ever produced herself, their hands brushing against each other,
“You smell like copper…” She whispered,
“I know…” He had his hand gently on her face as she pecked his lips, a taste of blood, scotch, and the smell of gun powder on him. Pulling her closer, he gave her a hungry kiss, one of a man with nothing to lose. Pulling away, he bit her lip and said, “Next time don’t fucking kick me so hard.”
“I make no promises…” She smiled, “Let's clean you up.”
“HEY, JUST CAUSE YOU’RE MY OLDER SISTER DOESN’T MEAN YOU GET FREE DRINKS!”
Writer's Note: We're back on the fanfic train! So I'm rewriting my Vampire Oc's thanks to re-watching Interview so here we go !
Warning: Trauma
Let me know if you want a part 2
Rue Royale Street, New Orleans - 1973
Daniel Molloy wanted proof. He needed to know if the stories were real. He’d heard all the rumors about Rue Royale Street from two strange guys in California—guys he sometimes thought he’d imagined. Still, here he was, a college reporter with a tape recorder and a wild idea, hoping to interview someone about the unknown. Ever since that night with Louis and Armand, the vampires whose stories would fill the pages of 'Interview with the Vampire,' Daniel had been chasing shadows and legends through New Orleans. Fear had rattled him before, but the mystery always pulled him back in; there was a need in him to peel back the curtain and understand the world beneath the ordinary. More than curiosity pushed him on: part of Daniel was desperate for something extraordinary to make sense of everything he’d lost in his own life, and another part was terrified that discovering the truth might cost him his sanity—or his soul. Even if it meant facing things that rattled his nerves or woke him trembling in the night, Daniel felt drawn to their secrets, obsessed with the hope that maybe, if he uncovered the truth, it would give meaning to everything he couldn't explain about himself and the world.
It was the early 1970s, a time when the city’s music was raw and full of energy, and secrets seemed to hang in the air. Daniel ended up in a bar on Royale Street, the kind of place where past and present mixed.
The bar was dimly lit, its sticky wooden floors smelling faintly of spilled beer and cigarette smoke. Overhead, a sluggish ceiling fan spun, barely stirring the humid New Orleans weather. Glasses clinked behind the counter, laughter drifted from the far tables, and music from a battered jukebox seeped through the thick haze. Slouching in one of the barstools was Daniel, ordering another beer as a young man sat next to him. Tall, dark, and handsome, he looked young beyond his years but wise. "Is this seat taken?" The voice asked. It was gentle, soft spoken, and a bit French and southern, "No..." He watched as the young man sat next to him. He had long hair, longer nails, and Daniel could feel his hair rise off his arms.
“Oh Fuck...”
“What’s wrong?”
“Listen, man, don’t- Don’t bite, okay!” Daniel felt his heart beating faster; he couldn’t tell if it was the drugs or if he was generally scared. He had seen it before, from when he met Armand and Louis; he wasn’t going to go through this again.
“D-Do you need he-” Stewart Leblanc, forever seventeen, watched as Daniel Molloy raced out of the bar and was never to be seen again. For a moment, the laughter and music in the bar seemed to swallow up Daniel’s frantic departure. Outside, the hazy night pressed close, and just like that, the story on Royale Street slipped back into shadow. The bar returned to its evening rhythms, and Stewart sat quietly in the aftermath, the empty seat beside him a sharp reminder of all that had just slipped away. Time moved on, the city changed, and rumors faded, but the unanswered questions lingered in the humid New Orleans air, growing fainter with each passing year while the secrets Daniel sought remained just out of reach.
Rue Royale Street, New Orleans - 2026
The streets were alive with music, wild tourists, and a heartbeat to it that even Louis still called home. It was Royale Street, right in the heart of the French Quarter. There stood an apartment building, one that was white with green accents on the door and windows, as Danielle got closer with a laptop bag. He read the historic marker, which made him laugh. Something about Louis, Lestat, and Claudia. Daniel soon began knocking on the door, “Mr. LeBlanc, right?” Daniel asked dryly as Stewart ushered him through the front door. “So no fancy Vampire butlers like your Sire?”
“No, I wanted a simpler life,” He shrugged, as there was an 18th - century chandalier hanging from the ceiling. A few painted portraits of himself and nothing but vintage furniture,
“Woah what am I doing visiting the queen of France or something?”
“You smell undead...” Stewart said while rolling his eyes.
“I am undead.” He laughed as he propped up his laptop, “Okay, right here good?” Daniel asked as Stewart huffed, “It’s going to have to do.” He grumbled as he sat down on the other end of the table, “Type O- or, A?” Stewart asked,
“Of what?”
“Blood of choice, Mr. Molloy.” This was going to be a rough night, and he could feel it,
“Surprise me,”
“Fine.” Scurrying to his kitchen, he poured himself a glass of Type O mixed with Mascotto and Daniel Type A with Bourbon,
“You know, when Tiff told me you moved here, I was shocked. You two seem so attached at the hip.” Daniel raised his voice so that he could hear him. Tiffany, however, was one vampire sire he could at least tolerate, and not because she was the opposite of what Armand said she was. Looking around, there were pictures of his travels and medals, a few polaroids of him kissing Claudia, and a scrap of the burnt Baby LuLu dress. The one thing not even Louis had.
“Well, I’m not too far away from her. I figured with her being a popstar now alongside Lestat, it just made sense that I find my own footing.”He smiled, looking at the portraits he had painted,
“So you paint?” Daniel looked around the room.
“Yeah, Louis... Helps sometimes, I help around the local theatre.” He shrugged, “So you must be here to interview me?” Cutting right to the chase.
“Yup...” Tiffany said to understand her, I simply... Must understand you, whatever the hell that means.” Taking out his notepad.
“One of the rules of vampire law is to never talk about our existence...”
“Already did that, so you gonna talk or what?” He smirked.
“I can talk.” Setting the glasses down as he sat down. “What do you want to know?”
“Age, date of birth, year you were turned, and whatever else.” Stewart cleared his throat as he smiled,
“Stewart LeBlanc De Lancy Dubois. 250 years old, I’m originally from Rue des Carrières, Québec, one of the greatest small villages to have ever been seen. I grew up in a castle that looked like the Fairmont Le Château Frontenac, but it’s a resort now, too.” His laugh was dry, and he knew it, “I was born September 20th, 1776.” He smiled, “To seven brothers, one sister, and an evil queen we called “ Ma mère.” He took in a deep breath.
“Seven brothers... Were they all alive or...”
“By a miracle, yes.”
“And you were turned when?”
“Winter of 1793...”
“I see... And what was your life like before all of this?”
“Where do I start?”
“1793...”
Rue des Carrières, Québec - January, 1793
Apolline dit Doucette was the mother of nine children, with whom she loved dearly, except for maybe Stewart, her youngest son, who resembled his late father, whom he chose to spoil Stewart the most. All the children were in the music room. Marie-Louise, his sister, played harp, while his brothers Jean-Baptiste, Joseph, Pierre, François-Xavier, Édouard, Cyrille, and Rosaire all chose masculine instruments like the violin, cello, and flute. But there was Stewart with the harpsichord. “ C'est tellement féminin.” Jean - Baptiste said, rolling his eyes, he had sandy blonde hair and eyes as deep as water, a trait of the Doucette line, blonde hair and striking eyes. “Leave him alone.” Marie- Louise said, swatting at them,
“You baby him more than maman ever will!” François-Xavier laughed, “That's why he’s soft now, look at him, he cowers.”
“I do not cower! I-I just choose my battles...” He began to mumble, the misfit of the family, Apolline’s
“ Mon petit bébé raté?”
“Yes, Maman...”
“Have you packed for your trip?”
“To...”
“Paris, with your brothers, you will accompany them... It’s what your father wanted.” She laughed, “As if he knew what was best for you.” In which Celestin did. Stewart looked confused; he was usually always left out of dinners, balls, banquets, and anything made by Apolline, as she was against having Stewart there.
“Do you mean it?”
“Yes mon petit raté.” Petting him on the head, “Now go, the carriage leaves soon...” Slipping a vile of poison into Edouard’s inner pocket, “Do not let him know you have this...Understand...” Her smile was blithe and evil as she glanced over her shoulder, “Remember, kill him swiftly...” looking at her sons. As Stewart was upstairs with his sister, Marie-Louise had picked out his best winter clothes, his furs and cottons, his boots, and mittens.
“Stewart...”
“Yes...”
“Promise you won’t return...”
“But-”
“No, promise you will go to Paris, and you will live.” Kissing his hands,
“Marie...”
“Stewart, there is nothing for you here.”
Rue Royale Street, New Orleans - 2026
“So let me get this right, by 18th-century logic, you’re gay?” Daniel asked, trying not to laugh as he took notes and sipped from the cup, “Not exactly... “ Stewart sighed, “But meeting you at a gay bar on 73 here on Royale says otherwise about you.” Stewart poked at Daniel as he rolled his eyes. He could see why Tiffany chose him. Stewart did have an attitude about him, “Plus I was seen as soft and weak, I was soft spoken, and my sister and maids raised me, I, however, was a good swordsman, and I’m an actor when I want to be.” He smiled again,
“But if we must talk lovers, every vampire has many.”
“I call bullshi-”
“You have Armand,” Stewart smirked as Daniel rolled his eyes, “Thing was there was a plan, go to France, never return, and survive, the 17-year-old dream for someone from the 1790s,” Stewart mentioned as he took in a deep breath,
“So did you meet anyone in France?” Daniel inquired as he looked over at the ring that Claudia had left, and Stewart's eyes grazed the emerald and gold ring that once belonged to Alexander Jose, a student, and nothing more, at least that was what Stewart told himself.
“He was something special,”
“Was?”
“Yeah...”
“I’m assuming it’s a tough conversation for you?” Daniel asked,
“Not as tough as Claudia, but if you want it in your book, I’m willing to talk about it.” Daniel pressed play on his laptop. The devilish smile on his face as he looked over his glasses, “So, France, what was that like for you, LeBlanc?” He questioned as Stewart laughed,
“What was that like for me...”
“Yes...”
“A never-ending Hell... That eventually became a never- ending Heaven.”
Paris, France - March 1793
Paris, France, was a cold, spoiled, rotten, and beautiful snowy landscape right at the height of the French Revolution. Tensions were high, but not as high as the tension now in the LeBlanc family carriage. Jean-Baptiste, Joseph, Pierre, François-Xavier, Édouard, Cyrille, and Rosaire were separated into two different carriages. Jean, Joseph, and Cyrille were in the first carriage, leaving Stewart with Pierre, Francois, Rosaire, and Edouard, who looked like he would kill Stewart at any moment. “So...I hear the tension with the people here is murderous...” Stewart tried to make small talk as they drove by heads-on steaks. He gulped as Edouard smiled, “That one’s eyes are still moving must be fresh...” His other brothers were pitching in when they arrived at the finishing school; some indentured servants came to unload their luggage. “ Oh non, le petit dernier va le faire.” Rosaire smiled, walking by Stewart, “ Allez-y, faites-le!” Stewart began unloading the carriages as he fumbled down, “Here, allow me...” Stewart looked up and saw a young man roughly around his age, sword on his hip, a smile on his face, freckles on his sun-kissed skin, with the purest of green eyes and curly hair.
“How can I thank you?”
“Alexander Rmaos.” Tipping his hat, that was the first time he had felt something come alive in his little heart.
“Stewart Dit LeBlanc.” Tipping his own hat, “Will I see you around?”
“You should.”
“Petit morveux, dépêche-toi.”
“They always call you a runt?” Alexander asked,
“Stepchild.”
“Sorry for you...”
As the weeks went on, his brothers continued their studies to be fine marrigable young men, and Stewart began hanging around Alexander. They were in Pigalle, women and men alike, living like lust-filled Bohemians with theatre shows and musicians all dedicated to sex. The red light district, where every fantasy is fulfilled. “Why have you taken me here?” Alexander laughed, “To teach you a lesson on life.” he took him by the arm. Stewart had been working at the finishing school to keep staying there, so he shared a room with Alexander, who taught him philosophy, Spanish, and now “Freedom,” Alexander shouted, the women knew him, the men appreciated him, he was a breath of fresh air, “Aren’t you aware of the sinning here?” Stewart asked as Alexander smirked, “Everywhere you go in life will always be tainted in sin; it is your choice to do so or not, that is freedom.” Walking away as he greeted a prostitute, inside was a club for aristocrats, it looked high-class with his Harpsichord and the women who were nearly spilling out of their dresses, “
What is this place?”
“A musician's heaven.” Alexander smiled, “Play for us.”
“I-I shouldn’t...My brothers will...”
“Tes frères ne sont pas là, ils sont ivres.”
“Your French is horrible.” He laughed, getting closer to Alexander.
“And yet you love it.” And he was right, Stewart loved everything about Alexander, his eyes, how they sparkled when they got into mischief, or how his face lit up when he’d talk about his homeland and the island, its beautiful fruit, but he loved it when he spoke French with a Spanish accent. And truly, how he made him feel. “Now go play!” pushing Stewart on stage as he began to play, his hands on the keys, his soft features now more relaxed as he took in a deep breath and only focused on Alexander, but little did he know that someone was watching him from behind.
Paris, France - March 1793
“We kill him tonight...” Edouard barged in with the poison ready, and on the blade, Cyrille looked up, annoyed, “Why tonight...” Rolling his eyes, Edouard grabbed him by the face, “He will not be given our birth rights and titles,” Edouard growled like a wild animal; however, Alexander had heard everything, pretending to serve breakfast even if there was absolutely no reason for him to be in there.
“Can we help you...”
“Oh... Oh no,” Rushing out, he went to check on Stewart, who was attending to his daily chores like Cinderella as he kept his head high. Tonight, they’d be going to The Théâtre des Vampires, a hole in the wall where they did realistic shows about death. “Stewart...I’ll do your chores for the day.” He offered as Stewart nodded, he had just gotten a letter that his sister had caught smallpox and hadn’t been feeling well. “Are you okay...”
“The theatre tonight, right?” There wasn’t any excitement in him; it was as if he had already been starting to die, “Stew...”Alexander had his hand on his face, with an Emerald ring on his finger, as Stewart looked up at him, his soft brown eyes gazing up at him,
“Stewart...”
“My sister is dying... I can not be there for her, I...” Stewart almost cried as Alexander held him, “She gave me one rule to get away from my brothers to live...” He began to slowly sob in Alexander’s arms, he dolted on him the way he wished his mother would. The one who died having him.
“Stewart... I am not leaving you.” Alexander’s voice was quiet but firm. He pulled Stewart close, resting his chin gently on Stewart’s hair. “Whatever happens, I’ll be here. You’re not alone—not here, not ever.”
Stewart looked up at Alexander through tear-filled eyes, something inside him easing at last. For that moment, loss and fear faded, and the two of them just breathed together, sharing the hush that comes when someone finally means what they say. “If I died today... I don’t think I’d fear it...” Stewart smiled as Alexander held him close,
“You will not speak like that!”
“I mean it, my sister was the only thing good to me in this life, she took me in when the rest of my family wouldn’t, if she is gone, then I have nothing...”
Rue Royale Street, New Orleans - 2026
“So this Alexander guy...” Daniel asked, “You trusted him?” Writing down notes on his laptop and a notepad, as Stewart began fidgeting with the ring, his eyes were glassy as he then looked back at Daniel, “ I trusted him, the way I trust Tiffany. Alexander was my first love, for every mortal has a first love.” He smiled, “He showed me things, theatres, brothels, the stars, what love could actually mean.” He gave out a love-sick laugh. Daniel had seen that look; it was the same one that Tiffany had whenever she mentioned Lestat or whenever they were on a magazine cover together. “So about your sister Marie...” Daniel already knew this would turn out to be a tough spot for Stewart by his ever-so shifting body language, “Did she...”
“Die yes...” Helaughed, “I couldn’t save her...She was in Quebce so how was I supposed to save my best friend?” He smiled, it was sombre and reached all the way to his eyes. “So like Louis and his brother?” Daniel questioned, “Yes, similar, but no, Marie actually raised me, she was a maman when I needed her to be a sister when she felt fit.” He laughed, “She taught me to read, write, sing, and play the harpsichord.” He smiled, “She’d play harp, so then eventually I learned that too in her honor.” Stewart grinned, “I just wanted to make her proud,” Drinking the blood in his cup as he looked at Daniel,
“And did you...”
“Yes.”
“Tell me what happened at the theatre you mentioned you were going to the theatre with Alexander.”
“I was...” Stewart blushed a little, “The blood is going to my cheeks.”
“So something happened?”
“Wha-What no! Nothing happened!” He squeaked,
“I see...”
Paris, France - March 1793
Stewart came down the stairs dressed in the latest satin overcoat, pink and green were his colors, and they did his complexion well. Waiting for him by the carriage was Alexander. He grabbed Stewart by the hand and led him into the carriage, “How did you manage to-” Stewart laughed as he looked around, “Amigos.”Alexander said with a light laugh. The carriage ride had a mix of anxious tension and electricity to it. And all he could do was stare at Alexander. When they arrived at The Théâtre des Vampires, there was an eerie scene of vampires pretending to be human pretending to be vampires, but to the audience it was an appeal of an illusion that for once made them believe the supernatural could in fact be real. The bustle of backstage overpowered the essence, the shuffling of feet, and everyone racing to the red velvet curtain; you could hear the chatter of everyone around them. “Tiffany ma douce?” Lestat said, racing over to her. She glanced him over and gave him a nod, “Everything looks good.” She kissed his forehead. Stewart and Alexander were sitting on the balcony as their eyes kept meeting throughout the show. His hand would graze Alexander's hand, and Alexander would touch his hand back.
“Nervous...”
“About?”
“Being so close to me.” Alexander leaned in as Stewart laughed, “ I... No, just the show...” His eyes glanced upon Lestat, the blue eyes, the dramatic appeal, that was someone he’d want to be like. Alexander gently grabbed his face as he pulled him by the chin, “ Stewart...” He whispered, “Yes...”
“Do you trust me...”
“I do...”
“Then I’m sorry about this...” Alexander kissed him, one of death, as Stewart grabbed onto him as if his life depended on taking all of him, his lips crashing back like a wave, “Alexander...” Stewart felt a knot in his stomach, disoriented as Alexander carried him outside the theatre, “Wha...What’s going on?” Cold winds hit his cheeks as he heard the slashes of swords. He felt a liquid dripping down his shirt, but he couldn’t place what it was, trying to fight back, all he could hear was his brothers shouting out kill the runt!,
“Alexander, hel-”
His head rolled next to his own as Stewart began to sob,
until
SLOSH!
“UGH!” Was all Stewart could get out; his eyes were closing, everything felt cold, and there was a light. It was warm and welcoming... Inviting even.
“ Mon petit frère.”
“Marie...”
“Live for me....”
"Stewart, have you no mercy..." Joseph laughed as Stewart kept trying to fight. The more blood he was losing, the more it was sending her into a frenzy.
" He is no good, Madame..."
"Then leave him to die..." his mother said, watching as everyone gathering around him left him in the piercing, harsh cold snow. Heat began to radiate around him. “ Es-tu un ange ?” He rasped out as Tiffany hovered over him, “Something like that...” She smiled, “Tout ira bien.” Her voice carried on as he faded into the pain into sleep.
“Tiffany, you can not turn him...”
“He can’t die either...”
“Tiffany...”
“Lestat, if I get into trouble, then let me. I’m aware he’ll be forever seventeen,” She glared at Lestat, drinking in his memories, those of pain and hurt, the name-calling, the misfit of his family; he deserved this chance more than anyone else did. Taking her ring, she sliced her arm, feeding the blood to him, small gasps coming from his throat as if he’d been brought back to life,
“Rest.”
“Where am I? Who are you?”
"Tiffany De Lioncourt." She smiled, her dark green gown trailing behind her, "You were dead...” Tiffany smiled, “So I drank your blood, and now you’re an immortal. So you might feel weak..." She shrugged her shoulders as she then handed him broth to drink for strength. His eyes were full of confusion, trying to grasp all of what she had just said. He touched his side bandages that were no longer needed. He had no pulse, yet he was still alive; his new eyes were dizzy to see out of, his heart no longer beat the same, but he felt a new energy pulse through him, one that was maddening.
"You saved me, why..."
"You seemed important," she smiled.
"No one finds me important, would have been worth it if I died..." he mumbled.
“You wound me...” He touched his neck, an aching pain throbbing there. He looked at her,
“So you’re really a vampire.” Gulping at the sight of her fangs,
“So it seems you... The fledgling talks a lot.” Lestat laughed, his hair in a ponytail, as Tiffany rolled her eyes at him. “He has a name...”
“What is your name...” Lestat asked as he shuddered. Up close, the vampire was uncanny; they both were beautiful and uncanny.
“Stewart Dir LeBlanc...”
“I hate it...” Lestat took a drink from his “wine. glass.
“I do too.” Stewart smiled a bit nervously, his eyes on Tiffany, “If you have created me in your image, created me as your own, perhaps then, like a Maman, you shall name me as your own.” He shrugged, too calm about this.
“I suppose I should name you Stewart Du Lancy Dubios De Lioncourt.”
“I did not create him...” Lestat sighed until he saw how Tiffany glared at him,
“Do not act in the same manner as your father!” She gave him a glare so deep it made him cower like a puppy. As the Parasian months changed, Stewart had learned to feed himself; he had also learned what pulse points to target, as well as skills like playing the piano and violin.
“Watch that pesky digit!” Lestat hit his hand, for the eighth time this lesson, “ Il est inutile!” He shouted as Stewart grumbled,“Non, je ne le suis pas!” Stewart looked up, his hands playing in a fury as he finally took in a breath and played.
Rue Royale Street, New Orleans - 2026
“So was Lestat like a father to you?’ Daniel asked Stewart as he laughed, “Sometimes he was. He was strict, got annoyed easily, and sometimes would smoke a pipe, so in my case, in time you could say he was.” Stewart smiled as he looked at Daniel,
“But Tiffany was my maman, my friend, my sister at times; she was my everything.”
“Sounds like you were in love with her.” Daniel rolled his eyes, as did Stewart, “No, I was not in love with my maker, unlike you...” He sighed, “ I was grateful to her, and Lestat, even when I didn’t play violin too well, in his eyes he saw one last chance of Nicki when it came to the violin, one last glance of a love that never loved him, but in Tiffany was his forever his storm and in me well, I don’t know.” He shrugged, “But things did change when Tiffany came back here. I wanted to see the world and study a bit, and she was getting used to Louis.”
“Getting used to?”
“She used to think that Louis was a replacement for her, but they grew closer and actually were stuck at the hip until your book.” Stewart chuckled, “Which they’re suing Louis for...”
“I heard.”
“Good, plus good luck trying to get Tiffany to like you again, since you’re with the blandest vampire ever.” Stewart rolled his eyes,
“Armand, you liked Armand?!”
“I- WHAT NO!”
“You look like Lestat whenever someone touches his lovers.”
“Va te faire foutre!”
“You act like him, too.”
“CHANGE THE SUBJECT, DANIEL!”
Daniel was quiet, he’d seen that rage before in San Fransico with Louis, He’d seen it with Lestat, but Stewart was sired by Tiffany so clearly, “Where did you get that rage from?” In the corner was a piece of blue fabric, a bit burnt up, his truest love.
“Stewart...” He picked up the fabric.
“PUT IT DOWN!” A teardrop of blood came down his cheek as he took in a deep breath. Daniel gave him a napkin, snatching the baby blue fabric away from him. He was protective of it the way a mother is with her child, “Must mean something then.” Stewart kept thinking about the night her body burned with Madeleine, her yellow dress, the fear in her eyes, the control of-
“Armand, you uh worked at the theatre a bit with him?”
Théâtre des Vampires Paris, France - 1943
“Armand...” Tiffany walked beside him, her green eyes bright with annoyance, “You can’t lead a company like this... With rituals, this is not how we did things before-”
“Do not mention that dramatic bastard's name.” Looking up at the portrait of Lestat, regal, gorgeous, and forever her-
“Don’t call my husband a bastard, you boring bastard!” She growled, knocking on coffins, “Santiago! show time!” She said in a sultry tone, fixing her bumper bang, Tiffany had become a local star, USO girl, and soon a rumored movie star, but tonight she was filling in for Claudia, at least that’s what she thought.
From the top of the stage, Louis was sitting in the audience, his eyes focused on Armand.
“And to help you rediscover your passion for LuLu, you’ll no longer remove your costume,” Armand commanded as he looked at Claudia, “you’ll sleep in it, rehearse in it, feed in it, hunt in it.” He smiled at her, that sly, charming one that always pissed her off, “You’ll live with LuLu offstage until she returns to you onstage.” Claudia looked at Louis, who shrugged at her to comply,something that made her blood boil to its very core, but not as bad as Stewart, who stood on the balcony, burning the dress as a piece of it was in his hand.
“HEY YOU UP THERE, WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU DOING! Stewart ducked, his hair cut short, even though it would grow back, “YOU UP THERE!” Stewart popped his head up,
“The violin boy?” Armand smirked, thinking of his punishment,
“I have a name, Armand, and it’s Stewart LeBlanc... Dubois.”
“Oh shit...” Louis mumbled,
“Why did you burn the dress?”
“Because she doesn’t deserve to keep playing a child, even if she looks like one.” Stewart said, “She deserves respect, actually....” Coming down to the main stage, “She deserves something bigger,” Claudia rolled her eyes at him, hiding the way his own words made her feel.
“Something like what, Juliet, Medora perhaps... Maybe the Virginal bride in Faust...” Armand laughed, teasing him, “She was made small, so therefore she will be tragically LuLu...”
“She could play Juliet, but your idea of her is so fucking demented, Armand.” He lit her cigarette, “ Of course, what do I know... I only play violin.”
“A violinist,” Armand circled around him, like a shadow given form, “How delicate, how soft you pull music from strings and think that makes you wiser than me,” He plucked the cigarette from Claudia’s mouth with two fingers, inhaling deeply as the smoke resembled a noose. “Juliet dies in her bedchamber,” He laughed. “Spoiled by love. By Sentiment,” He smirked, “Claudia doesn’t die, she burns, and when she does, when her body finally erupts... All those centuries in her veins screaming, you’ll wish she was LuLu again...” He grinned, “But go on, play your little fiddle for her tomorrow, see if music can dress a vampire.”
“It dressed Lestat...”
Armand's smile flickered with a brief, dark amusement. “...Lestat,” His tone was one of displeasure. “He was a different beast...” Pulling him close, “You would do well to remember the difference.”
“Yet you run, Tiffany, his wife, a founder... Like she’s nobody.”
“You’re back on rat duty...” Armand laughed,
“Fine.” He shrugged, “But don’t come crying to me when the music stops and all you’ve got left is an empty stage.”
“I’m sure the rats are hungry, you little runt.”
Stewart laughed. Stewart was now 167 in human years, 150 in vampire years, yet he was enamoured by Claudia, forever a teenager, but older than what she was, a tragic tale he knew personally, “TIFFANY GET YOUR RUNT!”
As he walked off, he fixed his collar, walking away as Claudia followed him. Claudia had been watching the exchange from the stage. The tension thickened between Armand and Stewart. As Stewart made his way down to the basement, she followed suit, watching the lighting make him look older.
“I know you’re following me, I know you have questions...”
“The fuck was that...Talking to the maître like that?”
“He’s not my maître or maker,” Stewart shrugged, “He’s just hungry for power.” His brown eyes looked into hers. He hadn’t felt attraction since Alexander,
“Why’d you do it?”
“Do what?”
‘Burn it...” She looked at him, “You didn’t do it for me, not really, at least, not to help...” The basement hummed with silence, only the sound of the rats in the background. “You did it because you saw yourself in that moment,” her voice was a whisper, “Small, trapped, told what role to play while something inside screams I am older than this skin.” She tilted her head, “So I’ll ask again... Stewart LeBlanc, why’d you really light that damn flame?”
“'Cause you’re bigger than Armand, so damn him and his power trip.”
“You’re brave.” Taking out a cigarette as he lit it for her,
“You gotta be when you look like me, ma chère.” He laughed, “Forever seventeen, forever underestimated.” He shrugged, “You lit one dress... Let's see if we can set an entire theater on stage.” She smiled. He smoked her cigarette and gave it back to her. She inhaled again, deeper this time, taking the smoke back like a secret.
Their eyes locked.
“You know,” She murmured, voice low and warm with embers, “Most people give me things to make me feel smaller. Candy. Dolls. Ribbons.” She flicked the ash to the floor, “You... Gave me a flame.” She stepped closer, rising slightly on her toes so her face was near his ear, “Bring matches to rehearsal.” She slipped past him as he reached for her arm.
“You wanted something...”
“Uh, no...” Stewart lied; he wanted her, needed her, and fell instantly in love with her.
“Liar, you don’t grab a person's arm for nothing.”
“Did you ever wonder who's going to love you?”
Claudia paused, her hands stilled on his arm, the question hit her like ice in the summer, “Who... was going to love me?” She repeated the word, feeling foreign on her tongue. She was looking for a punchline, a joke, but instead, Stewart was earnest.
“Yes, forever young, forever runts...”
“I don’t need love to feel powerful.” But the lie rang in silence. She knew it. And somehow, from his eyes not leaving hers, he knew it too.
“Didn’t say you need it, shit, no one needs it,but it damn sure feels good.” Her fingers twitched on his arm, her touch tightening. She glanced at him a moment longer, her mind at war with her own heart. “Love,” She finally responded, “Like you know anything about love, how old are you, 17...”
“167”
“Prove it...”
“I’m the same age as America... I was born during the war...”
“Shit..”
“You still haven’t let go of my arm, Claudia.” He laughed as she rolled her eyes
Daniel Molloy came driven by equal parts duty and trepidation, his mind replaying the instructions from Louis: come for the truth, record everything, leave with your soul intact. He was here to unearth one more vampire’s story, to crack open another secret for the world. But as Magnolia blossoms scented the air and Daniel walked up the driveway of the 18th-century plantation house, his sense of purpose was tangled with nerves. Each step sent the warm, heavy scent of magnolia into his lungs, the sweetness so thick it could almost be tasted, as if the whole world had narrowed to that one intoxicating fragrance. The house rose before him, white and regal, its paint luminous in the grey, wavering twilight. Shadows clung to the pillars, and moss crawled along the balustrades like green lace, but it was the magnolia scent that pressed in on every sense, saturating the humid air and blocking out all else. Wooden porch boards squealed beneath his shoes, the air taut with perfume and anticipation. Daniel tried to steady his breathing, reminding himself to focus on the task at hand: capturing yet another undead confession for the world. Still, the uneasy excitement and low thrum of dread mingled in the fragrant air, while a faint rustle of wind moved past the half-closed shutters. His hands were cool and slightly clammy as he raised them to knock. When the door swung open and a butler who appeared to have fangs stood before him, framed in the dim glow of candelabras, Daniel's heart skipped, and he hesitated for just a moment, forcing himself to meet the butler's gaze, even as a chill ran down his back. The air inside was thick with the scent of frankincense and old wood, shadows wavering along the edges of the hallway. Gesturing inside, Daniel kept his movements careful, alert to every unfamiliar sound: the far-off click of heels on marble, the murmur of distant voices, the echo of his own heartbeat. Taking in the flickering candlelight, the heavy curtains, and the haunted eyes gazing from ancient portraits, he scanned the room in an effort to ground himself and calm his nerves, but his eyes fell upon a certain painted portrait, and his unease sharpened all over again.
“Ki sa ki la?” That was what Daniel heard as he looked up and saw a green-eyed, brown-skinned Creole woman in jeans and a Lestat World Tour sweatshirt, a rose in her hair, and fading purple streaks in it. The lilt and rhythm of the words sounded like music, Creole soft at the edges, clipped at the ends. Who’s there? Daniel’s mind translated the phrase, his years in Louisiana sharpening his ear but still leaving him slightly unsure. When she smiled, he noticed her fangs, her mouth shaping a grin that seemed both inviting and dangerous. But she was regal, as if there was a type of importance around her, an air about her that he’d soon find out. “Ah...” He smiled. She was the vampire he came to visit. “You speak Creole French?” Daniel asked,
“And regular French, Mr... uh?” Her accent was sweet and succulent, almost as similar to Louis De Point Du Lac’s but less whinny as he’d mentally put it, “Molloy, Daniel Molloy.” He said as she gestured for him to sit in her grand living room, a painting of a young girl that he assumed was her when she was little, though the woman behind her had blonde hair, blue eyes, and was adorned in riches, while the young girl looked like she was in tattered clothes. Tiffany smiled,
“Would you like anything to drink, Mr. Molloy?”
“Bourbon is fine.”
“Sebastian, bourbon please, and a wine for me.” She said as the butler nodded. On her mantel were Oscars and Grammys, a few small knick-knacks she kept from her travels.
“Didn’t think Vampires could drink wine...”
“Oh, it’s another name for Blood... Or at least what I remember it being called when I was being brought up.”She mentioned, “You hungry or anything?”
“No...”
“Well, if at anytime you are let me know.” She smiled, a vampire with southern hospitality was quite off-putting,
“Thank you, so I was...”
“Sent by Louis to interview me.” She smirked, “I know, he called and told me you were coming. He also told me how you were treated. Inacceptable!” She grumbled, “If you are tired, there are beds, and if you are hungry, there is food. For him to be southern, he’s an-” She calmed down, “Sorry, this is not about him, it’s about me...” She took in a deep breath,
“You know, for someone who plays the role of a bitchy pop star, you sure are awfully kind, especially for a vampire.”
“The popstar attitude is an act.” She laughed, “Now, please ask away, Mr. Molloy.”
“How old are you?”
“Human years or?” She questioned as Daniel smirked,
“263, however, I usually say I’m 26.”
“Older than the nation...Shit.” Tiffany rolled her eyes, drinking from her glass. Thus, he knew he pissed her off with that one comment.
"Can you tell me about your childhood?" Daniel asked as he set up his recorder and laptop: "If you still remember it?" She looked at him as her eyes held pain behind them, "I don't know if you would be interested..." Tiffany trailed off with a somber smile, her body shifted. Holding back her blood-stained tears. Something that was already hard to do.
"Well, I was born in New Orleans in 1763 to a Haitian Creole maid w named Eloide Liru and a French duke named Simoné Du Lancy Dubois..." She smiled, looking over at Daniel, "Who that little one once knew as Mama and Papa,” Tiffany chuckled, gesturing to the portrait. resting her hands over her wine glass. passing Daniel his Bourbon.
“At least until Armand ruined that...” She mumbled under her breath.
“What was that...”
“Nothing... You see, my story really starts in Louisiana in 1768. I was just a 5-year-old, just a Magnolia seed, if you will." Her face turned into a twisted smile as she kept looking at her portrait from 1768.
1768 Magnolia Street, New Orleans, Louisiana
Tucked away in the French quarters was a Plantation house of ivory white fixtures with magnolia trees lining the entrance all the way up to the end of the walkway. A dark red carriage road towards the entrance as servants waited for the arrival of their new coven member. As the carriage pulled away. Standing there was a little girl dressed in the rags of a slave with dirt on her face, her curly hair nearly stuck to her face, as she looked weary and weak. She stood behind a tall man dressed in her father's crest colors.
"Tu es en sécurité ici," he said, gesturing for her to walk in, hesitant to grab his hand. He could tell that she was still scared.
"I assure you it's fine," he winked at the child, watching as she made small strides to the door. Surrounding her were vampires of high society of all backgrounds, draped in rubies and emeralds, pearls and the finest fabrics. She could hear them whisper and gossip, hoping it wasn't about her. As she walked further, she could feel red velvet drapes pool at her feet while in her line of sight, cups of porcelain and pots of silver with cups of fine "wine" poured in them sat close by on a table.
"Mon garçon tu m'as retourné aussitôt," said a woman, her golden curls pinned in a high roll as a blue feather plume stuck out from it. She was elegant, and she was beautiful,
She was,
" Countess Elizabeth De Lion, ma fille..." She extended her pale hand to the young girl. Watching her flinch at the gesture, Elizabeth could sense her pain already, a wounded bird not yet ready to fly, unlike how her father was.
"I'll not harm you a bit," she said, "Nay, will they..." gesturing towards the others that were gathering around her.
The younger girl only nodded as she slowly peeked from behind the man's legs, dark curls askew from behind him.
" Ma fille, what do they call you..." Her piercing blue eyes focused on the small green ones looking back at her. The young girl's voice was hoarse from the endless nights of screaming and the pain from being passed down from person to person.
"Tiffany, Ma'am ..."
"Haven't you a last name..."
"No, ma'am..." She looked down at her dirtied-up feet.
"She looks like a Liru..." a young girl around her age said, golden curls held back by a bow. "That's what we'll call you... Madame Tiffany Monroe"
Magnolia Street, New Orleans, Louisiana - 2026
"So they picked your last name?" Daniel asked, a bit surprised,
"You see, it was kind of a thing back then, sort of like naming property, which before I had even known who or what I was, I was in fact property... but Elizabeth picked out my life..." she laughed, “From what I would wear to who I would be around...” She took in a deep breath, “It was all a part of fitting into society, playing the cards right.”
“Did you have any friends at least?”
“We’ll get to them...”
1776 Magnolia Street, New Orleans
"Lace! Countess lace is the returning rage; all the women of the court are wearing it!" Fatima said, sticking pins into the dress. Fatima had been a seamstress since the beginning of time itself and enjoyed what she did. She, however, was property of Akasha. Tiffany stood there giggling, watching as Elizabeth and Fatima argued about the appeal of her dress. A regular thing for her, although sometimes her mother would pitch in if she were around, or her father if he were back from France.
" C'est de la merde putain!" Elizabeth growled.
"Ta mère était une pute !" Fatima rolled her eyes, continuing her creation, "I have you know I've dressed queens and kings and even Shakespeare's company..." Fatima scowled at Elizabeth.
"I had a Hans Holbein Portrait!"
"We all had one..." Fatima sang, "Don't move, Cherie," she mumbled, sewing the lace trim around her sleeves. It was the last finishing touch before she was to be shown off to the rest of the court like a doll,
“I think you look beautiful!” Charlotte De Lion said she was about the same age as Tiffany, with blonde hair and grey colored eyes, and was treated as if she was promised the land around her
Tiffany stood there in the mirror as she gave it a twirl, dressed in a dyed pink satin dress with a black and gold lace stomacher, though still a bit sad. Fatima could sense it. She missed her mother, but some things could not be. Taking her hand, Elizabeth led her into the dining room as all eyes were on her. The thirteen-year-old was almost ready for society, but still not quite there.
" Beau fille!" Her father smiled
"Une telle poupée..." Elizabeth said.
"Elle est magnifique!" Her mother suggested.
Magnolia Street, New Orleans, Louisiana - 2026
"That was all I heard... to everyone around me, I was a little doll..." She looked down at Danie, pouring him another glass of Bourbon, "I was nothing more, but when you're thirteen, that's all they know you for..." Tiffany laughed, the sound of despair hiding behind a ribbon of hope, "But there was always Fatima."
"Fatima, you talk a lot about her..." Daniel added,
"Well, she was my mother's companion and lover, she once cursed my father because he took her from her..." she sighed, "But she practically got me out of trouble ..." Pointing to the portrait of a tawny-brown-skinned woman with fangs. She was almost white-passing if he ever seen someone so light.
RING~ RING~
“Sorry, may I take this not to be rude?”
“Go ahead, I’m in your house.”
“Mon amour, je suis occupée...” She whispered as Daniel tried to tune in,
“Mais j'ai besoin de votre attention, en plus je m'ennuie à New York.”
Was that Lestat? Daniel thought to himself as she kept talking to him,
“Sorry about that, Mr. Molloy. Where were we?”
" You said you were a troublemaker?" Daniel laughed, "Who would have known?"
Well, it was 1776, I was 13, the age where girls notice boys..." she grinned, "Men notice girls..." she groaned as Daniel felt a horrible pit in his stomach. He had wondered if she meant something darker than what was mentioned. And when he looked into her eyes, he knew she meant that.
“And sometimes there are trips with the Duke to France.”
1776-Auvergne France
Tiffany sat in the branches of the Oak tree, as Charlotte watched her, her golden hair, much like her cousins', glistened in the hot summer sun. Looking up, all she saw were green eyes glancing back at her.
" Que fais-tu?" Charlotte asked,
"I'm a pirate, Mon ami, join me?" Her hand stretched out as Charlotte grabbed on, her eyes locking with Tiffany.
“You can not be a pirate...” A young boy said he, too, had blonde hair and gray eyes that reflected blue, sometimes violet, eyes, dressed in French silks as he sat under the magnolia tree; he was ten of six, and he was brilliant even if at times he couldn’t read, but! He was Charlotte’s cousin from Auvergne, France, Lestat De Lioncourt. The youngest of three brothers who lived and seven that didn’t, the runt of the litter; he would never inherit anything, but his mother loved him even still, though she was stoic unless she was talking to Duke De Lancy Dubois about promising her son to his daughter.
“Tell me why I can’t be a pirate...”
Lestat tisked as he rolled his eyes.
“It’s not what a young woman should do.” He laughed as she stuck her tongue out at him.
“Tu vas le regretter!” He shouted, chasing her up the tree
Tiffany and Charlotte always had a sense of imagination, but they were getting older, and by Elizabeth, the two young girls were getting awfully close.
"Take me away... my Capitaine..." she kissed Tiffany's hand. Tiffany had nearly frozen as she had later been brought back to reality by the poke of a branch.
"What are you doing..." Tiffany asked,
" Sword fighting, Cherie... my betrothed does it all the time to me."
"You're what?" she asked, sitting on one of the strong arms, her dress collecting even more dirt that would put Fatima in a rage. "Betrothed... I'll be marrying him someday..." she smiled, her heart already breaking, "Mother says it's time you get one too... and she found you someone suitable..." she held her hand. Tiffany looked down at her bare feet dropping from the tree as she ran off into the grand foyer,
Magnolia Street, New Orleans, Louisiana - 2026
“So wait! You knew Lestat?” Daniel laughed as Tiffany nodded, “I did...”Her eyes sparkled as she responded. Daniel had only seen Louis have that look until he called him cruel and unruly, but Tiffany seemed to have a different outlook.
“What was that like?”
“He was a misunderstood soul. He was kind once, very passionate with music and acting, fashion was his favorite topic, and he never made us forget he was the son of a Marquis.” She laughed,
“Was he your betrothed?”
“ Complicated.”
“Okay... So about this Charlotte...” He asked,seeing her tense up at the mention of her name.
“I thought she and I were going to be together, it was a useless crush really,” She laughed it off,
“So you fell for Lestat's cousin and then Lestat?” Daniel asked as Tiffany sipped her wine.
“Sounds silly, but yes, I did.”
“What about Lestat was so...”
“Everything, he questioned everything and wanted to learn what he could.”
1776-Auvergne France
The harpsichord played untuned notes in the foyer of the Inn, as Elizabeth moaned,her mouth covered in blood as she hovered over her drained lover. A man gasping for air, the way a fish gasped for life after getting caught. Tiffany was standing there in fear as to what she had just seen. Or even if she knew what she had actually seen.
"STOP IT!" Tiffany tried to move but felt as though time stood still. In which it did, it was Elizabeth’s gift of slowing down time as a distraction. Before Tiffany could even move, the pressure of Elizabeth’s pointed metal ring had almost cut her cheek.
"You dirty, unsightly little thing... I was almost through, and you ruined it, you petit avorton..." she growled,
"You will not hit this child..." Fatima took her hand
"Then get it out of my sight..." Elizabeth pointed towards the stairs. “Kill it if you must, but do it swiftly...”
Magnolia Street, New Orleans, Louisiana - 2026
"And then what happened... " Daniel asked as a tear fell from Tiffany's eyes. He had never seen a vampire cry. " Well, I had a bath... my hair in a high roll... wearing fresh French silk and I went to a ball... I still remember Fatima singing to me..." she smiled, humming as Sebastian set plates down for them both to eat.
“You can eat?”
“Yes, for example, if I am invited into a home or invited to eat, it won’t taste like soap, but if not, then it...”
“Taste like soap noted.” He dug into the southern soul food, melting like he was at home, “So did Elizabeth always hit you...” Tiffany gulped,
“Yes... Yes, she did, but that night changed a lot for me...”
“And your parents?”
“My father would play violin concerts, and my mother usually was silenced, so it wasn’t much done...”
“So Fatima would...”
“Always save me. Until she couldn’t.”
1776-Auvergne France
Tiffany sat in the porcelain tub as Fatima washed her hair, as she continued to sing an old French song about chickens.
"What was mama like..." Tiffany asked, her teeth chattering, "Well, she was beautiful ..." Fatima smiled, stroking her hair, "She was kind and sweet... stern and stubborn, someone I loved dearly..." she replied as Tiffany giggled,
"She wanted me to make sure you were taken care of... When she’s away," Fatima sighed, washing the blood off her face, "How about you, do you have someone you like, my dear?"
"Charlotte and her very moody cousin Lestat ..." she mumbled as Fatima scrubbed her arms,
“Son of a Marquis, the daughter of a countess.” Fatima laughed, “You have good taste.” She took her out of the tub and dried her body for the night. Putting her sleeping gown on.
“Madame Fatima is he my...” Her voice was small.
“Do you like the Marquis’s son?”
“I...I don’t know.”
Magnolia Street, New Orleans, Louisiana - 2026
“So 1776 wasn’t a bad year, but 1778... I was being pushed more to marry. I was 15 and considered a lady.” She shrugged. Her hand was playing with a dried-up rose, its color looked like it was white, now tarnished. Daniel took a picture of it as he looked into her piercing green eyes.
“Who gave you that?”
“Lestat did, it was just something he’d seen while learning to hunt and running away, he loved doing that until his brothers would catch him.”
“So he’s told me.” Daniel laughed, “What was 1778 like for you?”
“It was rough.”
Auvers-sur-Oise - 1778
Draped in the purest of silk stood Charlotte and Tiffany eyeing down eligible bachelors for Tiffany, while trying to get away from their betrothed. Golden curly hair resting on the shoulder of brown skin, sending butterflies down to her stomach. " Je m'ennuie, Tiffany ..." Charlotte pouted as Tiffany quirked her head up,
"As am I... perhaps we'll illumine la ville, what do you think?" taking the young girl's hands in her own. The two ran off into the gardens, away from the music and the snobbish, gossipy people," You're as bright as the stars in a clear sky." Charlotte said, her voice a bit shaky, surrounded by roses. Tiffany could only see one star in her view. But Tiffany knew what was on the other girls' minds. It was on hers as well.
"Charlotte, do you ever want to be a vampire..." Tiffany asked, placing roses in her hair,
"If it means you'll be my amant et compagnon," she kissed her cheek, "Then who am I to destroy what the fates want?" She placed her hand on Tiffany's face. Her pearls glowed in the night sky as the two stayed in a lover's embrace. They had been inseparable since they first locked eyes, but soon they'd become one, or so she hoped. As two men showed up, pulling the two young lovers away,
“LET ME GO!” Tiffany shouted as one of the men grabbed her by the waist. Tiffany tried to fight him off as Charlotte took it with a smile.
“ENJOY IT, MA BELLE!” The man shouted
Tiffany sat in her bedroom, weeping, scratching at her arms, then at her hair as she still felt the sting of an abuser's first kiss on her lips, a dark purple bruise by her eye.
"Tiffany..." Fatima ran in, "What did she do to you...", her green eyes were lifeless as if the soul of a child was left behind. Placing her hand on her cheek. Tiffany's gaze only looked down in shame at what happened to her.
Lestat stood by the door watching, “Do you remember what he looked like...” He asked, dressed in his hunting clothes.
“He...He looked like a noble...”
“Ah...” And with that, Lestat had exited the room with no ifs or buts.
BLAM!
Magnolia Street, New Orleans, Louisiana - 2026
“So let me get this straight, you loved Charlotte, but she saw you as a plaything, not an equal....” Daniel pointed out as Tiffany nodded, “I was young and knew no better.” Tiffany sighed, now standing in front of the painting of her and Charlotte.
"What did you do to escape...The ugh... Rape," Daniel asked, the mood in the dining room shifting as they went to the foyer, a harpsichord and violin there.
"I ugh I bit him... I ran... I ran like hell away from that place..." Tiffany sighed, "But then again, wouldn't you..." she asked. "My teen years were rocky... A lot of rapes, being blamed for it, no one cares about labels when you’re young with a maiden head worth taking; however, I turned 20, and did everything truly make sense. It was 1783... Lestat had returned to France, but we kept in touch in letters.” She smiled,
“But how did that affect you, Tiffany?”
“You learn that the world takes before it truly gives...”
1783 Paris France
"What do you mean the Duke isn't dead!" Elizabeth whispered. Fatima gave her a chuckle, holding up letters from the Duke of the court. Tiffany, who was sitting by her door, listened as she snickered away at the news, "Your plan didn't work, Elizabeth, enslaving the young duchess to make into your pawn ... and was a useless tactic ... Armand promised you shit." Fatima crossed her arms, her white bow wig in place despite her anger,
"I... I don't know what you mean..."
"You betrayed us ... you paraded around here much too long! and now it's over..." she growled, her long nails gracing Elizabeth's porcelain skin. Stabbing her in the heart with a silver sword. Tiffany sat there in bewilderment at what Fatima had just done. She committed a crime amongst Vampires by killing her own all for the sake of some measly vampire royalty. Rolling the body away in the ever so elegant velvet drapes, Fatima took the blood of Elizabeth from her fingers, giving it a taste, laughing as she knew the young girl was watching,
"You'll want to get dressed for the arrival of your parents ..." she hummed,
"H- how did you know I was here..."
"I hear everything, Cherie..." she winked.
"Don't you think this is too much..." Tiffany asked, looking in the mirror, "The pearls in my hair... the locket... and a choker with more pearls..." she asked, looking at the dress. There were pearls and bows on the silver bodice with the Diamonds on the stomacher, while her skirt was of the finest silk that money could buy.
"It's never too much when meeting your parents again..." Fatima smiled, her black curls covered in matching Rubbies, much like her dress and necklace.
"Besides, tonight is your big night," she smiled as Tiffany gulped, scared of the pain that changing over would be if she'd ever see another daylight or perhaps even feel the sun on her skin.
"Announcing the return of her Grace Elodie Dubois..." one of the guards said,
"They're here..."
"What do I do!"
"Run..."
Magnolia Street, New Orleans, Louisiana - 2026
"Did you?"
"I ran like I was flying, everything to see the woman I was ripped apart from again..." she laughed, "I wanted to see her face at my father for the first time...With different eyes.” Her hand was rubbing her locket. "I wanted to see..."
1783 Paris France
"Your face..." Tiffany smiled, standing before her mother. Her eyes were just the same as the child she had bored. Eloide reached out towards her as she kissed her forehead, a tear falling from her face,
"It's been too long, my dear..." Fatima said, holding Eloide’s hand.
Magnolia Street, New Orleans, Louisiana - 2026
"And then what happened..." Daniel asked.
"Well, I was turned into a vampire..." Tiffany smiled, “I don’t know if I enjoyed it or if it was something magical, but. “ She took in a deep breath, “I remember being prepared for vampire society, I remember being told there would be a cleanse.”
“Was it like a ball?
“What?”
“The Vampire society.”
“Well...” She laughed, “It was held in Paris, France.”
“Sebastian, I think I want that meal,” Daniel said. “This feels interesting.”
“Well, it was the Palais Royale.” Tiffany swooned, “Every Vampire from fledgling to new and old world was there.” For all my centuries of wandering, for all the masks I'd learned to wear, one ache had always stayed with me as I entered that palace: would I ever truly belong, or was I only ever someone's plaything, a passing novelty? That question pounded in my chest as I walked through the marble halls. She twirled as if she were in her gown again, “And that’s when I saw him again... Different, vibrant, a bit confused but still mine.”
1783 Paris, France, Palais Royale
Bigger than Versailles, Tiffany stood in front of Palais Royale as aristocratic vampires walked towards the entrance, her crest pendant hanging around her neck as she walked into the palace, head held high, and her dress similar to that of Marie Josephe Louise de Savoie. There were candles and “wine” chandeliers, dance cards, ladies, lords, and such, but in the corner, confused and lost was “Marquis De Lioncourt?” He hadn’t aged past twenty. “Duchess Monroe...” He looked at her, his breath was taken away, “It’s Dubois now.” She hugged him; he smelled of musk and lilac, and she of lavender.
“Where is Charlotte...” He asked, “Your shadow...”
“She has passed on with her mama.” She responded as he nodded,
“Where’s your shadow? Nicolas...”
“He too has...”
“I’m sorry.” Tiffany took in a deep breath, watching Lestat walk away, “Has life been kind to you, Marquis?” Lestat laughed, one who told her every answer to the soul he once had, “Non, ce n'est pas le cas...” He pulled away from her, “But life has been kind to you, Tiffany.” He held his hand out to her. Her laughter was sweet, even for what they’d become
“My hand. It’s not-”
“Gloved, I don’t care.” He pulled her close to his body as she grinned,
“So why now...” He asked, “Why find me now?” He questioned as she looked at him, “I was only sent here, I- didn’t know you’d be here, I-” She was nervous around him as he took her by the chin and leaned in to kiss her, “Cherie, that no longer matters, you are here and you will be safe.” He mentioned as she kissed him back, a kiss that sired she was his forever, biting her lip as he saw parts of her new life.
“Why now...” She asked him as he took her from the crowd, “I didn’t know you’d be here, after all, you were smitten with my cousin.” He tsked, “She only saw you as material.” He mentioned taking her to the balcony. She sat on the railing. “You never saw me as anything more than what I was... Lestat.”
“I saw you for more than what you were actually; you were just three years behind me, but I always found you interesting.” leaning in closer to kiss her neck, “If you bite me, you know that makes me...”
“Mine.” He laughed, “However, I’m not trying to turn what's already been. I just don’t want to be-”
Magnolia Street, New Orleans, Louisiana - 2026
“Alone...is what he told you...” Daniel laughed, “ You’re telling me the bratty bastard was gentle with you?” He asked as Tiffany nodded, “Lestat and I traveled the world, we got married many times.”
“Many...”
“We loved each other, we balanced each other out...” She grinned, “We were there when the Titanic sank. It was our anniversary.” She laughed as Daniel was shocked, “We met this one couple, she could’ve let him fit on the door, but we paddled and fed on frozen bodies, then we kept rowing and made it here.”
A young boy with black hair and brown eyes made his way past Daniel as he snuck into the kitchen,
“And you are?”
“Stewart Leblanc...” He appeared to be 17 years old, very plucky still,
“And you are?”
“Like a son to Tiffany, sometimes portrayed as a brother to Lestat, honestly thankful for not being dead.”
“And how did you get turned?”
1793 Paris France
Tiffany walked by a few Scholars, who weren’t too far from the theatre that she and Lestat had begun to run. One of them caught her eye, hair as black as coal, stumbling around the courtyard fencing.
"Stewart, have you no mercy..." his teacher shouted at the young boy, his eyes tracking towards the young woman who was watching, as he kept trying to fight, the more blood he was losing, the more it was sending her into a frenzy.
" He is no good, Madame..."
"Then leave him to die..." what seemed to be his mother said, watching as everyone gathering around him left him in the piercing, harsh cold snow. Stewart lay there, his eyes closing the world around him growing gray until something warm touched his skin. Heat began to radiate around him. He could smell broth boiling, his eyes fluttering wide open.
"You are a scholar? Oui?"
"Avec qui êtes-Vous?"
"Québécois ?"
"Oui," he responded, " Stewart Leblanc and you..."
"Tiffany De Lioncourt." She smiled, her dark green gown trailing behind her, "I patched you up, and I may have drunk your blood. So you might feel weak..." She shrugged her shoulders as she then handed him the broth. His eyes were full of confusion, trying to grasp all of what she had just said.
"You saved me, why..."
"You seemed important," she smiled.
"No one finds me important, would have been worth it if I died..." he mumbled as Tiffany rushed by his side, "Suppose, you could live forever..." she leaned in towards him,
“But you are.”
“You wound me...” He touched his neck, an aching pain throbbing there. He looked at her,
“I sired you to save you, you would’ve bled out and-” Stewart hugged her as Lestat stood by the door,
“Tomorrow we start you on piano.” She smiled, walking off, yes, Tiffany knew she had broken a vampire rule, never turn a child, but he didn’t deserve to die either.
“Tiffany...” Lestat sighed, “Do not get attached.”
Magnolia Street, New Orleans, Louisiana - 2026
“Judging by the fact that Stewart is here.... You.”
“Got attached.” She hugged Stewart as he laughed. Daniel had never seen a vampire coddle their fledgling like a child, not even when Louis talked about Claudia, but Tiffany was different. This was something he was starting to learn about the vampire herself.
“She’s always been like this, sometimes a mother, sometimes like a sister, but all the time my family,” Stewart said, slipping from her grasp as he went into the refrigerator for his dinner.
“Stewart, we do not drink the blood from out the...”
“Bag... I know, but it’s easier.”
“Cup now.” She glared at him as Stewart rolled his eyes.
“See a mother.” Stewart joked as he slipped away from the conversation.
1793 Paris France
“So why him...” Lestat asked as Tiffany let her curls down, her vibrant eyes locked on his, “He reminds me of you.” Tiffany said, positioning Lestat’s portrait on the theatre wall. “And how is that...” He laughed,
“Seven brothers, he’s the forgettable one of the pack, he’s sensitive, curious, talented.” Tiffany added as Lestat laughed, “You’re right, I guess... to the right.” He commanded Armand.
“It’s not centered.”
“Is it not?” Armand asked.
“No...”
Magnolia Street, New Orleans, Louisiana - 2026
Daniel looked down at her finger. There was another ring on it, and of course, he had questions,
“And what was that ring.. You mentioned Armand was that a gift from him or...”
"The significant choking bond to the prince of vampires..." Tiffany sighed, “It was semi- given to me by Armand, almost like a curse... Though my memories on the issue are a bit fuzzy.”
"Bond." Daniel laughed,"Wait, you could have been Queen of the vampires?"
"That's an entirely different person named Akasha... But thanks for trying," She giggled,
"So a princess then."
"You could say..." her hand rubbing her arm, "By force..."
"What do you mean by force?”
"I was but a poupée a marionetă ... a toy if you will..." she waved her fingers around, "You see, it was 1889 Transylvania ... a ball...Armand had... sent me away for a bit for turning a child to Romania.”
“What about Lestat?”
“I don’t remember what happened there?”
1889 Transylvania
The string quartet had begun to play the waltz, women and men alike, dancing in the castle's grand ballroom, each covered in pearls, diamonds, and titles, gowns from France, and gossip from all over. A 126-year-old Tiffany stood by the gothic steps dressed in pink silk, her raven hair pinned into curls, her golden locket swaying on her neck. Fatima, who was on her right, held a glass of "wine" in her hand as Stewart only watched in awe.
"I'm bored..." Tiffany yawned, "And I don't see why I'm here..." she mumbled, as both her patrons were taking in the festivities. A pair of eyes had been watching her from the stairwell as if peering into her nonexistent soul. Chills running down her spine, a hand gesturing out towards her, "Dansezi bine?" the voice asked, a thick European accent attached to a tall, dark, aristocratic man.
"Je ne comprends pas?" Tiffany looked up at him,
"Est-ce que tu danses bien, ma mariée?" He laughed, leading her to the dance floor. "Your bride..." She looked at him, agape. Bodies pressed together engaged in a candle-lit waltz.
Taking her wrist, he pressed a kiss, teeth grazing the soft subtle skin under as he took a bite from her flesh, her blood dripping from the side of his mouth, " You are as beautiful as they say..." he whispered the hair on her back standing up, "Pure... breed vampire but a different taste... why." he asked, dipping the young woman, a confused look on her face,
"Well, I - I'm different," she said, trying not to tremble in his presence, "Who are you and why am I here..." she asked, as he shook his head,
"Fatima... my beautiful creation... forgot to tell you..." he sighed,
"Tell me what..." Her wrist pressed against his white tuxedo vest-covered chest, his cloak moving swiftly. "You'll learn later," he smiled, his fangs peering from his plump lips. " As for who I am... my beloved..." he chuckled,
"I am Count Dracula..."
"The prince of..."
"Vampires." he took her by the hand, tilting her wrist over, "You heal quickly..." Dracula said under his breath, a bit shocked at whatever mutation of vampire she was, "I'm impressed ..." he smiled, walking her towards the balcony of the castle. The moonlight radiated from dark velvet drapes as the two had stood looking over the beautiful mountains and scenery from the view of the castle. Tiffany looked in amazement, for it had been the most beautiful thing she had ever seen in her undead life. "This could all be yours..." he smiled, placing his hand under her chin, slyly looking for the marks of her sire.
Magnolia Street, New Orleans, Louisiana - 2026
"What did you say, Tiff..." Daniel asked, resting his chin on his hand. Tiffany laughed, readjusting herself on the couch, her body a bit achy, "Well, I looked at Dracula... " she looked up, " And I said..."
1889 Transylvania
" That's completely insane..." Tiffany chuckled, "I wouldn't know the first thing about taking care of such land." Dracula smiled, feeling a twinge in the place where a beating heart would be, "If you'll excuse me, I should get back to the ball..." the young vampire mumbled, walking away as the train of her ball gown dragged behind her. Dracula reached out his hand almost as if casting a spell to get her to come back to him. Taking her lips as his own, he soon watched as her eyes closed while her hand reached out, the other wrapped around the taller man's body. Her breath was shaky, and everything was going black.
Magnolia Street, New Orleans, Louisiana - 2026
"So wait, Dracula kisses you, and you blackout?" Daniel typed away. Tiffany nodded, rolling her eyes, "A vampire's kiss is like opium to humans, but for a vampire, it can be a sedative at times... " she sighed, "A memory blocker really..." her hands shaking as sweat began to build upon her forehead again, “Though our minds do the same too...”
" Then what happened..." Daniel asked, gritting his teeth, aggravated,
"Well, I remember waking up, and there was a blood feast..." she scratched her head, " Dressed in crimson, there was a feather in my hair." She reached into her curls almost as if it were there.
1889 Transylvania
"Iubit, are you not hungry..." he tilted the cup to her mouth, noticing as she pushed it away. Surrounding them were Stewart, Fatima, and many vampires of the court of Dracula Liru, who all had their eyes on "Tiffany..." Dracula asked as she shook her head, "Terribly sorry, my head was elsewhere..." She took the crystal glass from him, feeling him infiltrating her thoughts.
"A toast!" Fatima stood, "To the union of the courts..." she nearly shouted, the rest of the vampires drinking blood, Tiffany in a flowing suit as Dracula fed her blood from his cup, much like a newlywed couple does with cake slices.
"To us... " he whispered, placing a kiss on her neck, listening as Tiffany drew back a gasp, her eyes closed as her body went limp.
"If you excuse us, we must retire..."
Magnolia Street, New Orleans, Louisiana - 2026
"So wait, you two..."
"Daniel, sweetie, I honestly don't fully remember..." She flopped over the couch as Stewart began braiding her hair,
“If you don't wanna tell us..." Daniel glared at Stewart, "Then don't..." he puffed his cheeks, becoming a bit of a spoiled brat.
"I generally don't remember all of it... It felt like a fuzzy dream." She held onto her neck and then her hair, back to her arms. The burning sensation of his hands coming back to light on her skin. "But I do remember that morning..." she said in a somber tone of voice,
1889 Transylvania
"The sun was shining from the balcony wrapped in Egyptian cotton sheets..." she swooned, "The one time I ever truly loved that man was when he was asleep..." she giggled. Tiffany stood there basking in the Transylvanian sun, the colors of the sunrise kissing her ever-so-cold skin. Traces from the night before lingered on her skin. Tiffany couldn't recall what happened, but in the words of Fatima, it was something extraordinary that happened, a bond between creatures of the night and walkers of the day.
Noticing something glistening on her finger, Tiffany looked down to find that there was a ring, three clusters of garnet surrounded by pure gold, "Where did that come from..." she mumbled, walking back into the dark curtain-covered room, a large shadow in the corner opened its eyes,
Red reflecting from the shadow, causing Tiffany to look over, "You walk in the day..." He questioned, staying in the dark of the room, "I feel her sweet rays and can never burn." She smirked, looking at the vampire before her, dressed in his robe. "However, you feel the coldness of night and can never love..." She walked behind the dressing divider, getting herself prepared for the day.
" I think in due time, you'll accept our engagement, and you'll learn to care about me as much as I care about you," he followed behind her, lacing her corset, his hand resting on her thigh, a gentle squeeze from his long nails. “Armand tells me you’re a rarity.” He whispered in her hair.
"I would much rather hold my breath than love you..." she laughed, pushing him down by his amulet and into the chair. Sitting in his lap, Tiffany threw her head back, her arms wrapped around his neck,
"Surely you don't mean that..." he hissed, the grip around her neck like a lion set to kill,
"If you so think of killing me, I will bite you like a mosquito on the breast of a prostitute..." she laughed, biting his ear lobe, "With no mercy whatsoever..."
"You wouldn't do that to the man you love..." he smirked,
"Funny, I don’t recall you being Lestat," she laughed, her sharp nails under his throat ready to rip it out from under him. She knew what she said would have horrible actions to it later, but she felt as if a fog had semi- lifted in a way
"When you get done with me, you'll throw me in a box like your brides..., you'll take me apart to see what makes my kind tick... or worse ..." She stood up, putting on her bustle. "You'll give me to some sire,"
Dracula only looked at her, watching the power that she had before her, reading minds just as if it were pages in a book to her. That was something he could only do by drinking blood, for blood was life, and he had to have all of it.
“Who is Lestat?” He asked, grabbing her by her neck as he squeezed as tightly as he could. “Is he a lover... Perhaps...” She nearly gurggled,
“He... Is...”
Magnolia Street, New Orleans, Louisiana - 2026
"Well, did he..." Daniel asked
"Did he what..."
"Give you to a sire..."
"Almost, being with him was hell... Dracula was charming because it was how he caught his prey.” She began regulating her breathing.
"Well, tell me more about this... Clearly, it was a big part of your life.”
"Alright, fine, you wanna know more..." Tiffany rolled her eyes as Daniel sat on the armrest, getting comfortable, "I'll take that as a yes..." "Alright, well, a few months after the engagement, Dracula and I had company..." she smiled, " An adorable lawyer named Johnathan Harker... " Tiffany giggled, "What a fool he was..."
1889 Transylvania
It was a stormy night in Transylvania. The moon was high above the night sky as owls and wolves who'd and howled amongst Castle Dracula. There in the grand dining hall sat Johnathan Harker, dark brown hair and a pure, young, lovesick look in his eyes caused by his lover Mina. Tiffany sighed, watching the two talk, her immortal heart yearning for that of what they shared, cold hands wrapped around her waist as the silk fabric of a cape brushed against her arms. "You aren't dressed yet. Why," Dracula asked, laying his chin on top of her head, "Not hungry..." she replied, looking at him, "Besides, they're your guest I wouldn't want to intrude." She laughed, breaking from his grip as she went to their "Shared" room. Dracula, however, made his way down the stairs, joining the couple.
"Do forgive my lateness... My betrothed has fallen ill and won't be joining us..."
"Is she okay..." Mina asked, her eyes focused on the vampire, a bashful blush coming across her face. "She's just a bit tired, is all..." he smirked, his eyes averted to the pulsating vein in her throat. His hands caressing hers, while Johnathan's eyes averted to a shadowed figure in the candlelight, rubbing his eyes, he felt his mind was playing tricks on him, much as they did before when he went exploring on his own around the large castle. As the shadow crept closer, the hairs on his neck began to stand still as the air around them shifted, while the candle lights no longer flickered. The feel of death's nurturing cold hands reached out to the lawyer. A long, metal, pointed ring at his neck. Johnathan turned to look back, but nothing was there yet again. Dracula only grumbled, knowing who was behind it all.
" Is everything okay, my Count? Mina asked,
"Nothing to worry about, my pet..." Dracula smiled, pouring glasses of " wine."
"Seems we have a visitor..." Dracula mumbled, and the silhouette of well-kept hair from the balcony peered down at him. Both Johnathan and Mina were "drunk" as Dracula made his move to sweep Mina away to give her death's sweet kiss upon her neck. "Funny since I started trusting you, nothing good has happened..." Tiffany laughed, making the blood inside Dracula boil,
" Careful, aren't you..." he scoffed, his lips nearly meeting Mina's for a kiss. "I could kill everyone in this town before they could even rise to their feet: skills like that do wonders for self-confidence," Tiffany responded, cutting a gash in Johnathan's neck, her teeth sinking to the fresh, dark red oozing down. Droplets formed around her lips as she flashed a smile towards the other vampire. Dracula took Mina by the hand as he kissed her, eyes wide open, as his eyes looked towards Tiffany. He could see the subtle feelings for him crack right in the windows of her eyes. The Harkers both lay there lifeless as Tiffany had only stormed up the steps.
"How could you..." She turned to face him.
"How could I what?" he smirked, "You're just an experiment ..." he leaned in closer, " A lover when I need you to be..." he whispered, tilting her chin, "You're nothing...but my bride of course." he kissed her as she fell into his grasp.
Magnolia Street, New Orleans, Louisiana - 2026
"Woah, wait, you two bickered then made up..."
Tiffany smiled as she reached out to touch his hand, "I talked back, and he threw me in the cellar with his brides..." she shrugged,
"Was it bad..."
"Well....” She showed him a small scar on her ankle.
“You tell me...”
1905 Transylvania
Sitting in the cellar was Tiffany, brides surrounding her, taking nearly every drop of blood from her body that they could. It became her punishment every time she denied Dracula a proper wedding, or sex, or anything of the matter. Her skin was growing pale as veins covered her features, almost as if she were dying. "And who do we have here..." A tall, lanky man asked, standing next to Stewart.
"This is Tiffany..."
"Stewart..." She whispered, her eyes fluttered, looking at the blond-haired man who, by stature, looked rich as well as a vampire. "Let's get her cleaned up..." he smiled at the familiar, lukewarm water that had touched her skin as Stewart washed her hair from dirt and residue. "Tiffany, we're gonna get you out of here..." he smiled as she hummed, "You're the best..." she slurred. As Tiffany was made up and dressed, she stood in front of the well-renowned actor, or whatever he was by now.
"Lestat...." Tiffany cleared her throat of Stewarts' blood.
"My love ..." he kissed her hand, "The Count and I aren't married actually..." she interjected, tapping her nails on her ring, "Oh, I know, I could hear your thoughts... They called to me.” He picked her up and helped dress her.
Magnolia Street, New Orleans, Louisiana - 2026
"So Lestat saved you?”
“Somewhat.” Stewart interrupted.
“What do you mean by somewhat?”
“Well, she blacked out and killed Dracula... She doesn’t remember it, but I remember her eventually over top of him, feeding on him until the sun rose.” Stewart shivered, “It was the most terrifying and beautiful sight.” He laughed, “Armand really did a number on her with her memories.”
“And why's that?”
“He’s my parents maker... So when they made me, I became a second-generation Armand fledgling.” She rolled her eyes.
“So like a grand vamp father?”
“I guess...”
“So tell me about Louis... He told me about you, so I assume you spent time with him, too.”
1920s New Orleans, Louisiana
"Cherie... Must you arise so early..." Lestat sighed, snuggled up against Tiffany in their shared satin-lined coffin. Ice blue eyes slowly opening up to reveal the beauty that was his Creole lover.
“I have things to do, my beloved,” she kissed her fanged prince on the lips, arising out of the confined space. Her dark curls had fallen from her ever-so-elegant marcel curled bob.
"Ma coeur ..." She turned to face the pale hand that was peering from the coffin.
"What... Cherie..." he grumbled.
"Well, that's no tone to talk to the woman who loves you with!" Tiffany puffed her chest out as she began getting dressed, starting with her slip. After all, lying around waiting for her one lover to wake up, it always seemed to bore her, for he was stubborn.
" Désolé, mon cher, but I beg of you let me rest..."
"You will pay for the distress that you so ever put me in," she laughed, sitting on top of the pearl-encrusted coffin. Tiffany always loved the way it felt under her already cold skin.
"You wouldn't..."
"Perhaps Louis and Claudia would like to join me for a bit of Piano..." she mumbled, feeling the lid shift in annoyance, "Leave me outta this,” Louis said, his brown hand slipping out into a middle finger.
“So rude to your ancestor!”
“We do not know that yet, TIF!”
She walked out of the bedroom and into the hallways, stepping into the sunlight, feeling the ever-so-radiant heat kiss her undead skin. The floorboards later began to creak as she heard the patter of feet come her way.
"Ma doux bébé, why in heaven's skies are you up?" Tiffany asked, picking up the curly-haired brunette, " I'm sorry." Claudia said, turning away from her. "I couldn't sleep..."
“You are not a day walker...” Tiffany laughed,
“I wish I were just like you.”
Magnolia Street, New Orleans, Louisiana - 2026
“So Claudia...” Daniel smiled,
“Like a little sister to me, though she was like a child to Lestat and Louis.”
“And to me she was gorgeous.” Stewart took in a deep breath, “I loved her, of course, I couldn’t compete with her love for Madeline...”
“I see.”
1920s New Orleans, Louisiana
"Headed to the main bedroom, right." Tiffany chuckled, dodging the rays of light to get to the brooding brunette's room. Placing Claudia into his coffin, she couldn't help but enjoy the smile on his face. He always seemed more at ease when he was sleeping.
"When you are well-rested and ready to play, I will be there," she smiled.
"Where are you going..."
"I have a... business to attend." She smiled, "Now sleep." She placed all the dolls in the child's arms. It wasn't that Tiffany was lying when she said she had business to attend: if anything, she was vague about it.
“She’s going huntin',” Louis mumbled under a smirk.
“Is that true, Papa Lou?”
“Yeah.” He rolled over, “Now hush for you wake of Lestat...”
“Already awake...”
Taking the trolley back towards the French Quarters, Tiffany stood in front of a White plantation house that she knew all too well. As she knocked on the door, Fatima, her long-time seamstress, opened it, greeting her Mistress with glee.
" Madame Dubois, you return..." her French accent heavy. "I didn't think you'd ever come back."
"I could never forget this place and the steeple in my life, it was to me..." She laughed half-heartedly, walking in. There were women gossiping and carrying on about their unhappy lives; she knew that they must have been mortal and fresh.
"Excusez moi, mademoiselle's why do you seem so sad..." The door had then closed behind her as she later took them to her bedroom, screams throughout the empty estate as Tiffany had been lounging about her bed, blood covered her lips as they were swollen and plump from the kissing and teasing of the younger women.
"Fatima... "
"Yes..."
"Do you ever grow tired of this life..." she asked
"You'll get used to it." Fatima smiled, draining the corpse by the wrist into a crystal glass.
"I don't mean that... I mean this..." she pointed to the lavish furnishings, the clothes that they were wearing,
"Clearly. When death happens, you can't take riches with you..."
"So you'd rather your mother's fate... a Slave..." Fatima laughed. Tiffany became silent as she held onto her locket,
"I would rather be a slave of the passion of love rather than..." Tiffany gestured to the dead women around her, "A slave to lust... "
"Are you not happy with your lovers?" Fatima asked nervously where the young vampire was going with this conversation. "I love them dearly... But I do not know if they love me the same." She stood up, undressing:
"Vampire lounge singer, a mother for a week, who is more like a sister figure." She chuckled, her brown skin soaking by the window in the sun, "I am confused by everything... I rarely know much how to please Lestat's hunger, let alone Louis, who feasts on rats! PLUS I THINK HE’S MY KIN." Fatima laughed, scrubbing the young woman's back. " It is all about learning, mon adorable ami." She kissed her cheek,
"Yes, but..."
"No buts... " she tied a ribbon in her hair. "We will make you the fairest of New Orleans," she began to mutter on about dresses and so forth.
" To see you in crimson hurts me so..." Fatima mumbled.
"Lestat hurts me so... sometimes..." she looked away, "But bruises are nothing to a vampire... At least not verbal bruises." She chuckled, "He says he doesn't mean it..." her eyes becoming glassy, “He says sorry as he takes me to bed and...What do I know ..." she laughed, "Basking in the sun, we'd have wed by now... Again" she sighed, "But all things come to an end." she sighed, feeling Fatima put her stockings back on her. Her diamond choker around her neck. " Ma cher... look at me..." Tiffany only looked away.
"That is the past you are living for the present, my dear, play by his game." With that, Fatima dressed up the young woman as she sent her on her way, just in time for Claudia's piano lessons.
"Watch your thumb..." her teacher said, hitting it.
"He's right, thumbs are quite scrupulous little things," Tiffany said with laughter. Claudia turned around, seeing the woman who could do no wrong in her eyes standing there. Walking upstairs, she could hear Louis and Lestat talking, preferably about their plans for feeding.
"Lestat ... Louis..." she called out to them both, a feather plume in her hair, while beads of pearls draped from her wrist; she was an image of beauty. Lestat kissed her hand, " Enchanté mon amour," he twirled her around, "You are beauty herself... Tell Fatima she turned from a lady to a duchess!" Louis only rolled his eyes, watching as Tiffany walked towards him, and she kissed his cheek sweetly,
“I know you don’t like women, Louis; you don’t have to kiss me.”
“I know.” He gave her a nod as she shook her head,
“It’s not that I don't like you, you just remind me of my family.”
1940s Paris France
The théâtre de vampire had just opened back up. As Tiffany and Stewart sat on the balcony pretending to be siblings, her eyes landed on a familiar pair. Louis and Claudia, who were only a few rows lower than her, and Stewart. Tiffany had written them letters awaiting their arrival, but of course, time waited for no one, not even vampires. “She’s here..." Claudia pointed up as she saw them.
Tiffany and Stewart had only vanished into the crypt of Armand. Coming down the stairs was Armand himself. Luscious hair and the walk of a predator waiting for its prey. "We are a family... you could say..." he smirked, introducing Louis and Claudia to everyone.
"This is our enchanteresse... and-"
"Louis!" she hugged him. He smelt of despair, but still a hint of magnolia flowers. "You look beautiful ..." he smiled, "Time has served you well..." Louis kissed her hand. Tiffany..." she pushed through as Tiffany kissed her forehead,
Stewart looked at Claudia the way Louis looked at Lestat, with admiration.
"My sweet Claudia hasn't aged past 13 but has become a glorious young woman."
"Why don't you both stay with Stewart and me?" she offered. The four were in her not so humble chateau chandeliers hung from the fixtures. Paintings from far-off countries graced the wall, Stewart, who had given them teacups of blood, watching from afar their vampiric faces in delight as they spent the night catching up with each other.
"Stewart, come, I don't want you to feel left out..." Racing over, he couldn't help but stare at Louis, for he had never seen someone so beautiful in his entire life. "I'm Stewart, her fledgling.."
"You made a vampire?"
"Yes, I did in 1793.” She smiled, watching him talk to Clauida, stuttering as he was being eaten alive.
“Seems they’re getting along.” Louis looked as if Stewart was nervous about trying to make a move on Claudia, “He loves people who challenge him.”
“Sounds like you.”
The record player began to play, and Tiffany was sent back to all the letters she kept re-reading from Lestat until he'd send another. 1945 was hard on her. With the war on top of the usual racism faced, she found herself mostly staying home.
"Something on your mind..." Louis asked, watching the way her dark blue dress hugged every curve of her hips.
"No..." she turned to face him.
“You should sing again.” Louis smiled, “That brought you joy.”
“We are in France...”
“So is Josephine Baker.” He helped her with her clothes as she looked up at him.
She laughed, pressed against his chest, the music playing softly as he held her to dance, “I see you’re getting close with Armand.”
“Armand is different,” Louis said, the two swaying the night away to the music playing, her hand on his chest, until he twirled her around,
“Be careful with that one, I don’t want my brother hurt.”
“Brother, huh.”
“Same green eyes and fighting spirit.” She smiled,
“Same choice in men.” He laughed,
"When did ya learn how to swing dance?" she laughed as Claudia and Stewart looked at her,
"A drunk night in Germany," he said, dipping Tiffany. If she were alive, her heart would have been racing from what she had seen,
"Tell me about it ..."
"Boring broads and a few interesting men," he smirked, "I don't think you'd wanna hear about it..."
"Tell me about it..." she asked as Sweet Sue, Just You played in the background.
“Well, Claudia found a few old-world vampires, and they disappointed her a bit, but we traveled more, and we ended up here. I became an artist, and Claudia acts now.”He looked over at Stewart, “You really have a type.”
Holly Springs, North Carolina, had been awfully hot this time of year, with The Andrew Sisters playing on in the background, interrupted at times by updates on the war efforts. It was a usual hot North Carolina Summer that smelled of dogwood flowers and the sticky sweet stentch of Cheerwine Soda. But nothing could prepare anyone for the rucus that had been going on inside the white house with the porch swing that belonged to the acclaimed Blues singer Alfonso Reed and his Big Band Jazz singing wife Denise Valmos.
“Alfonso, if you walk out that door, you’ll never return to set foot in this house!” Denise’s voice broke as tears ran down her face. Alfonso turned, his eyes full of pain. In the next room, their daughter Cecelia laughed, unaware of what was happening.
“Denise, I just can’t be a father anymore.” Alfonso’s shoulders slumped as he lit a cigarette and packed, his hands trembling.
“What am I supposed to do?” Denise gasped, her body shaking so much she had to hold onto Alfonso. All she could think about was Cecelia and how her daughter’s future seemed to be slipping away.
“What c-can I do...” Denise asked, “To keep you here...”
“There’s nothing you can do.” He shrugged and took a drag from his cigarette. “You and that little girl will be fine. I can send you money or something, but...” He gave her a cold look. “If you try, just know I know she isn’t mine.” Denise swallowed hard and felt small.
“How do you know that?” Denise asked as Alfonso laughed.
“Baby, don’t nobody have eyes like hers in my family... Not to mention sometimes she looks a little light...and her hairs a little fine.”
“I am half Puerto Rican, Alfonso! She wasn’t gonna come out dark!” She huffed,running her fingers through her qauffed black hair. He laughed, still packing his samonsnite. Her up north accent was getting thick the more she talked, “No one else could be her father except you!”
“ I faintly remember a certain man leaving out the Juke back in 1934...” He smirked, “Can’t recall his name though... Started with a C or something, and he talked funny.” his tone felt venomus almost as if he hated the man's guts.
“Alfonso... it shouldn’t be this easy for you to leave this easy...Is this about Kitty...” Changing the subject as her stomach dropped. Kitty Cadwell was his favorite background singer, a young redbone who was known for keeping all the menfolk “well taken care of.” As she’d put it, she was never too keen on Denise and well... Denise was never too keen on Kitty. Where Kitty was young and easy, Denise was experienced and skilled both in the music industry and in keeping a husband until now.
“A little, figured she ain’t been stretched much, she’s younger, so her music career can last longer, so...”
“You’re leaving me for your background singer.” Denise nodded, “Leaving me because I gave you a child-”
“THAT AIN’T EVEN MINE, DENISE!” Alfonso shouted, “ I-I JUST CAN’T PROVE IT... Yet.” taking yet another drag.
Alfonso ignored her. Pulling away from her grasp, he pushed past her, moving out of the house. “That girl loves you...” She cried, “Please don’t do that to me... To us... To her.” He gave her a glance that was so icy she had sworn he froze the Carolinas for a split moment,
“Daddy, where are ya going?” Her voice was small, “Can I go with you?” Her hazel eyes were bright as he cursed to himself. “Damnit...” He groaned. This was the one person he didn’t want knowing, Cecelia, the little light of the family. Around where she had poked out like a turtle was a picture of Denise and Alfonso on their wedding day, and surrounding her was the soft smell of lavender, her mother's favorite scent and one that would soon remind her of heartbreak. As she looked at her father, she noticed something was wrong; he hadn’t smoked in a while like he was doing, and he was wearing his fedora, which he only wore when he was taking long trips or when he was out with that woman that she never liked seeing dropping her daddy off.
“Daddy’s gotta ...Go on tour for a while.” He smiled; it was fake, but it was for her to be able to smooth things over in her mind.
“Is mommy going...” Her accent was strong like his. He knew he couldn’t lie to her when she first lost her tooth, and she told him there was no way a little fairy could hold a quarter.
“No, your mama ain’t coming.”
“Oh... Well, how long will you be...”
“I don’t know, sugar,” Alfonso said, sitting at her level. He could see the wheels in her mind turning. Although she was six, she was smart like her mama, and at times like this, he hated it. He could see the sorrow in her eyes that he was causing, but he still had a path he wanted to follow; he wanted out of responsibilities, he wanted out of being with Denise, and deep down, he knew she wanted it too; they were both hindering each other's careers, hers in jazz and his in blues. One last look, and he saw the young girl whose youth he admired, their days of touring, and the spark that he’d only continue to break if he didn’t leave.
“Cecelia...”
“I know...I know, turn the dial.” She sighed,
“Atta girl, I promise I’ll write ya...,Matter of fact, I’ll leave you with my guitar.” Getting his white painted synchromatic, it was his first guitar he had ever made a hit with, and yet he always remembered how attached to it she was as a baby, something that would one day make her a star if she so chose to be.
“Play it every time you miss me.” He kissed her forehead as the honk of a 1939 Chevy Truck was heard, and there walking out that door was Alfonso,
Suddenly Are You Lonesome Tonight had played in the background on the radio as he kept heading out the door.
“DADDY WAIT!” Cecelia shouted, and Alfonso looked back, hesitating to reach out for his daughter. Kitty sat in the passenger seat, her grey eyes were alluring as her brown skin glistened in the summer sun, her legs dangling out the window as she said in a sultry voice,
Blinking away her tears. Cecelia tried her best to be brave, to sit with her daddy’s choice, but she couldn’t; after all, she was six and her world was falling apart right in front of her. “Alfie, you coming or what~.” And in that moment, the faucet in Cecelia’s eyes poured out tears; she was starting to connect the dots. “Don’t cry, little girl~” Kitty sang out, almost teasing her, “I’ll make sure your daddie’s treated all nice and well while he’s away.” Kitty waved at Cecelia as she tensed up, “What's wrong, the gal ain’t got manners?” she shouted out as Denise tried to shield her away.
“Cece... you know I love you...” Giving her another kiss on the forehead, her bottom lip trembling as he tipped his hat, picked up his suitcase, and stomped out his cigarette, he then walked into the car as one of his bandmates left out the passenger seat for him to move.
“Neese, you understand, don’t cha... A man's gotta do the right thing for his family.” Getting into the front seat, he drove off in a cloud of dust as Cecelia ran off to follow behind, losing track as she saw the Chevy drive off into the distance. Denise stood waiting for her daughter as she ran back towards her, her small body shaking in anger as she then looked up at her mother's green eyes,
“He’s not coming back, is he...”
“I don’t know, sweetheart.”
As the sun-kissed sky became the starlet-studded sky, Cecelia lay outside on the porch, clutching onto Alfonso’s guitar as her tears began sinking into the wooden floorboards of the porch, lightning bugs flew. The cicadas played as the grasshoppers chimed in as if they were playing a southern brokenhearted symphony lullaby for one special little girl. “Honeybee...” Denise said in a soft voice,
“Dinner’s ready...”
“I...Don’t wanna eat too sad...” Her voice was low, like it was disappearing. Denise flattened out her dress as she sat next to her daughter, “I made your favorite.” She sang as Cecelia perked up.
“ Slow-cooked pork?”
“And...”
“Sweet potatoes!” Cecelia perked up a bit as she ran into the kitchen. Denise chased after her into the kitchen, knowing that after today, things would be different, but as a mother, she was willing to sacrifice anything for her baby.
BRRING BRRING BRRING
“Mommy, the phone's ringing for you!” Cecelia shouted, alerting Denise as she ran towards the phone. Picking it up, she took a deep breath, knowing it was her mother until she heard,
“This call will be 1.00 an hour. Do you accept the charges? ” The operator asked, reading her usual prompt.
“Just where is this call coming from?” Denise questioned,
“Upper East Side, New York...”
“I don’t know anyone from...”
“My God, Denise!!, She accepts the call!”
“Frankie ...Is that you?!” Denise could recognize that accent from anywhere, “Where are you!”
“With Carlos, we’ve got a tour coming up.”
“We’ve... you’ve gone solo?” Denise perked up,
“Yeah, like someone else I know.” He chuckled,
“You heard about that...”
“We all did, keep your head up ki-”
“FRANK, GIVE ME THE PHONE! Sei un bastardo,” Carlos sighed as he picked up the phone ,”Dee, how’re you holding up?” Oh that name, oh that voice, and oh her heart. Denise tried not to swoon as she looked back at Cecelia, her daughter staring at the wall, her sadness taking over again . “Well, not too good...Cecelia’s sad, Alfonso’s gone, which means no shows means no money,” Denise added as Carlos felt her worries seeping through the phone,
“Why not get away to New York!” Frank shouted in the background.”
“What am I going to do with my daughter?”
“Bring her too, she can’t just know the southern side of life,” Frank said, and Carlos even agreed,
“How are we going to get there, Mr. Bottom Dollar?” Denise said, holding Cecelia, who was being a bit nosy, “Easy, two plane tickets, I’ll come pick you up.”
“When's the flight...”
“Friday...”
“Carlos...”
“Trust me.”
“You’re at 16.00...” The operator said.
“Hell, I’ll pay for it. Denise, don’t let me down.” Carlos pleaded as Denise sighed,
“Alright.”
“See you Friday, Cara mia.” He hung, and Denise felt like she was in high school again.
“Mommy, where are we going?”
“New York.”
New York City - July 1941
LaGuardia Airport rummaged around with the hustle and bustle of city life, and a curious six-year-old who wasn’t used to the fast-paced city life. Fur shawls passed by, men in lavish suits and some in designer dresses like Denise, who was in dior a nice summer yellow with a hat to match. Cecelia was wearing a pink dress with an overcoat to match and a hat, her chest puffed out like the woman she saw sauntering around. Denise laughed,
“What are you doing?”
“Copyin’ the women, I wanna feel important too.” Her hair curled like a mini starlet, though as she looked at her mother, “You are always important, babygirl.” Picking her up as she booped her nose as Oh Look At You Now played, and Cecelia perked up, singing with the radio, Denise’s troubles seemed to fade just from her daughter doing something as simple as singing, “That’s uncle Frankie!” She grinned, “He has pretty blue eyes...” Her brown cheeks turned red, and Denise noted to herself she’ll be checking for every boy to have baby blues like her God uncle, and maybe by then the south would be kinder to love like that.
“Mhmm, it is.”
“Are we gonna go see him too!”
“Are you Mrs. Reed?” A chaufer asked as Denise was taken aback, it had been a while since she had star treatment like this, “Please, Ms. Valmos will do.” She said, slowly walking more confidently towards the car, “And you are little Miss?” Cecelia looked as if asking Denise if it was okay to speak, and she nodded.
“Cecelia Shanel Valmos, sir!” She stuck her hand out, “What’s your name?”
“Uh... Mr. Ralph.”
“Got a last name, Mr. Raplh?” Cecelia asked again as he blushed, “Sizzler.”
“Nice to meet’cha.” Cecelia grinned as they then walked towards the Rolls Royce Limo. Denise remembered how badly Carlos had wanted one of these things when they were teenagers. He also promised they’d been married, but some things the heart couldn’t grant true.
“Watch your step, Ms. Cecelia.”He picked her up, helping her into the car as she let out a little laugh.
“She hasn’t laughed in a bit,” Denise noted to herself, she said, sitting in the back with her, Cecelia laying her lap as she yawned,
“Has she been a tired thing too?” Ralph asked as Denise nodded,
“This is taking a toll on her, but she’s six, so...” She sighed, “It’s taking a toll on me...” Denise thought to herself,
“How do you know Mr. Funicello, Ma’am...”
“We used to date...” She laughed, “He was a new student when we lived in Philadephia and he was in my math class. I tried to tutor him, told him no, a bit, and one day he wrote his number on my work. The rest was history.” She swooned; her heart always did belong to Carlos, just like anyone's first love; she did truly love Alfonso, but the heart always knows what it truly yearns for.
Coming up to the Upper East Side apartments, Denise could hear Alfonso’s voice yelling that Cecelia wasn’t his, and maybe that was true, but right now Denise needed to get away from that house, and so did Cecelia, “Woah is this a castle?” Cecelia stirred as Ralph laughed,
“An apartment building.”
“It’s huge...” She stretched, waking up as Ralph assisted them both out of the car.
In the lobby were chandeliers and a grand piano,marble floors almost as if its wealth was speaking for itself, leading off that the rich and mighty ignored the turmoil of the war outside, leading off the wars within. However, Carlos, ever so excited, paced around the lobby like a father waiting to hear that his wife provided him with a child. Carlos’s black hair was slicked back, leaving a few loose curls in the front; his blue eyes were worried, nervous, and excited even as he thought about, “Denise over here!” He waved as she walked over, Cecelia hiding behind her, “Carlos Funicello, look at you...” She looked up at him, “Three-piece suit?” She questioned,
“Just wanted to look good for ...And is that your daughter?” He asked, looking behind Denise. Cecelia nearly shrank into herself until she looked up at him. She still stayed tucked behind Denise’s legs,
“It’s o-”
Carlos stooped to her level as he stuck his hand out, Ciao bella, what’s your name?” He asked, as she peeped out a little,
“Cecelia ... Sir...”
“You got a last name, Cecelia...”
“Cecelia Valmos.” She stuck her hand out as he kissed it.
“Enchanted to meet you, I’m Carlos Mariano Funicello.” He smiled,
“Nice to meet you.” She smiled as she felt a small calm wash over her. “Let me take you two upstairs to your rooms.”
“Carlos...”
“Denise, you’re staying here. I have the room, and it’s a nice view, and plus you hate cheap hotels.” He mentioned, as Denise laughed, that the three of them headed into the elevator, and on the top floor was his penthouse. Vibrant colors surrounded the apartment, and pictures of him and Denise were scattered throughout the livingroom as a deep laugh was heard,
“Marian- Oh, look at my God Niece is that my little princess?”
“UNCLE FRANKIE!!!” Cecelia bolted towards him like lightning as he lifted her up, “You’ve grown a little.”
“And I’m losing a tooth soon!”
“The tooth fairy will put a quarter under your pillow.”
“Frank fairies can’t lift quarters.” Denise looked between them, and her stomach dropped like they were on a roller coaster, “Besides, we’re Italian, so we have Topolino dei denti.”
“What's that?” Cecelia asked as the two men laughed,
“He’s a tooth rat.”
“He is not a rat, Frank! He is a mouse!” Using his hands to express himself, much like how Cecelia did when she was upset. “It’s a rat, Cecelia...” Frank said, bouncing her on his knee.
“Does he take teeth?”
“Mhmm, and then leaves gifts or money extra for kids from Napoli!” Carlos grinned; they had the same smile,
“But I’m from North Carolina...”
“Well... We’ll say you’re from Napoli.”Carlos shrugged, watching her laugh.
“Carlos? Frank? You two good with Lasagna?” Denise asked as the two nodded. Denise always made it her business to cook; a home-cooked meal was always the way to keep connections running and conversations flowing. As the evening had progressed, Denise began striking up a conversation with Carlos,
“So how's your cousin doing?”
“Which one?”
“The one in Ohio...”
“Oh, Dino Crocetti?”
“Yeah, him?”
“Changed his name to Dean Martin and got married,” Carlos said, standing behind her, to help her with the pasta maker. “You know, I always loved you right...” Carlos mumbled as Denise sighed, “Too soon?” He asked as she nodded, “Denise, I wish I had been there, really.” He smiled as she cut up her tomatoes for the sauce. “I mean, Kitty has nothing on you.” He brushed up against her as she smiled a little, “
So, ideas for Cecelia, it’s her first time in New York.”
“Still changing the subject.”
“Carlos...”
“Denise, I missed you, I do I-”
“If it’s not music I-”
“Let me manage you.” His way of saying I love you, but in a way she’d understand. “You’re serious?”
“As a heartattack.” He smiled, “Stay for a few weeks, let me manage you, if you don’t like it, I’ll be out of your pasta.” He joked, “And for Cecelia We’ll take her to the ROXY and the statue, Coney Island. He smiled, “Whadya say?”
“Okay...”
As the week progressed, Denise was singing in every Dance Hall, making a name for herself again, and Carlos was pampering his star with hair appointments and a shopping spree at Bergdorf Goodman. Cecelia and Carlos were in their own world playing with the toys in the toy department, and then she came out, “How do I look?” standing in a gold evening gown. Denise looked just how Carlos remembered her,
“Mommy, you look like Lena Horne...”
“You look better than Lena Horne.” He remarked as she blushed, Cecelia nodded as Denise looked in the mirror,
“It needs gloves...”
“Denise is back!”
“It’s Ms. Valmos if you’re interested.” Carlos helped her down as their eyes met, Cecelia took note and pretended to play with the doll Carlos bought her, the two rolling their eyes the same way. Denise had been noticing more and more that they were bonding; they had similar ways of thinking, similar gestures, and it was becoming apparent that maybe she was his daughter. On their last night, Cecelia had been tucked into bed, the record player playing Are You Lonesome Tonight as she clutched onto the guitar, tears streaming down her face, remembering how she felt watching Alfonso leave, she felt empty like it was all her fault, her sobbs became to pour faster and louder as she sniffled out,
“I want my daddy!” She screamed out as Carlos heard her cry, almost as if it were fraternal. Running to her room, he saw her sobbing as he ran to her bedside,
“ Piccolo tesoro?”
“SÌ?” Her hazel eyes were puffy as he recognized her sadness; he, too, was a child whose dad had left, and he vowed that if he ever had a child, he’d be in their life.
“What’s wrong...”
“Th...The Song... Reminds me of...”
“Him?”
“Mhmm...”
“Let me sing you a song then... Can I pisello odoroso ?”
“Yes, please.”
Buona sera, signorina, buona sera
It is time to say goodnight to Napoli
Though it's hard for us to whisper, buona sera
With that old moon above the Mediterranean sea
In the mornin', signorina, we'll go walkin'
When the mountains help the sun come into sight
And by the little jewelry shop, we'll stop and linger
While I buy a wedding ring for your finger
Carlos sang as Denise stood at the doorway, watching as Cecelia was snuggled into his lap, sleeping. He turned to Denise as she laughed, a warm feeling surrounding her that maybe things would be okay, as he began patting a seat next to himself. She cuddled in close to Carlos because the heart always knew what it yearned for.
Graceland, Memphis, Tennessee - July 1961
In the meantime, let me tell you that I love you
Buona sera, signorina, kiss me goodnight
Buona sera, signorina, kiss me goodnight
Cecelia sang, rocking her twins Jesse and Elaine to sleep, her eyes gentle and tired with the promise she’d give them everything she always wanted and more,
“Baby?”
“Hmm?” Cecelia responded, turning to her husband, Elvis.
“Singing that song again?”
“Yeah, just missing my papà.” She giggled as the storm outside couldn’t beat the calm inside. The White painted guitar hanging on the wall over Elaines crib as she glanced at it, then to the mouse stuffed animal.
“Carlos is still on tour?” Elvis asked,
“Yeah... Says he’ll make it for Saturday night dinner.” She mentioned as she pulled him into a kiss.
Prompt: May 1960, Cecelia and Elvis have already found out they're expecting, but things get a little less heated as they get interrupted by the future grandparents
Warning: None
Pairing: POC OC x Elvis
Note: I wanted to flesh out Cecelia's mother some more, yet again, so I was talking with @eapep, and this idea was born.
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Graceland 1960
"Elvis—Oh, that tickles..." Cecelia giggled, her laughter ringing like a melody in the warm, sunlit room as her husband showered her neck with soft, playful kisses. Each gentle peck sent tingling shivers down her spine,
"I wasn't plannin' to tickle ya darlin.'" Elvis leaned in close, his voice barely above a whisper. The couple, basking in the warm glow of renewed marital bliss, had recently exchanged vows in a public ceremony, a joyful celebration following the quiet, intimate wedding they had held last year in Germany. Friends and family had gathered to witness their commitment this time, each face glowing with happiness. However, their excitement was not just for their vows but for the unexpected news they were about to share, an announcement that would deepen their bond even further. That was if they could get off each other,
"Do you think it'll be a boy?" Elvis asked, peppering her face with kisses in between each word.
"I think it would be a girl," Cecelia smirked, crinkling up her nose as he kissed the creases. His hand on her stomach, slowly inching up to her buttons.
"Elvis..."
"Hmm?"
"What'cha doing down there?" Her eyes clouded with love and lust.
"Checkin' the baby."
"It ain't but a pea-sized cell." She laughed.
"Pea-sized today... a baby tomorrow."He leaned in closer, his breath warm against her skin as he whispered sweet nothings, his lips brushing softly against hers. Their connection felt electric, a spark igniting with every fleeting kiss. With his leg nestled between hers, he sensed her heartbeat quicken, a rhythm that matched his own. She clung to him tightly, her fingers tangling in his hair, as if fearing that he might vanish at any moment if she relaxed her grip.
Soft carpet muffled the sounds of incoming footsteps as heels clicked and loafers trodded. "Carlos..." Denise sighed, "I'm worried about her." Fixing her pencil skirt dress and her pillbox hat, "I know mi vida." Carlos tracked alongside her,
"She could be sick... I can't have a sick artist, let alone a sick daughter." She groaned, "She's never turned down food, especially steak." Denise sighed, fixing her hair. Carlos grabbed her hands as he looked her in the eyes, "Dee..."
"I mean something's terribly wrong," Denise said, pushing past him, approaching their bedroom door.
"Oh~ Elvis," Cecelia growled,
"Mmm... Yes, baby?"
The door creaked open as Denise went pale in shock, "CECELIA SHANEL VALMOS PRESLEY, YOU GET OFF TOP OF YOUR HUSBAND NOW!"Denise shouted as Cecelia almost fell off the bed, covering herself up, "And in your girdle!"
"Mama!... Mr. Funicello!" Elvis nearly stuttered out as Carlos looked away,
"Were we interrupting something?"
"Hi..." Cecelia whispered, her wide eyes peering cautiously from behind the bed. The dim light of the room cast soft shadows, making her feel both hidden and exposed. Her mother, standing nearby with a disapproving look, turned sharply, almost scolding her as she placed her hands on her hips. "Don't you know you'll get pregnant doing... that?" she exclaimed, her voice a mix of frustration and concern.
"Mother... Elvis and I have been doing this since 55..."
"Haven't got pregnant yet!" Elvis chimed in,
"Except this time..." Cecelia mentioned as Carlos caught a nearly fainting Denise,
"Knew it..." Carlos whispered,
"How...When..." Denise questioned,
"Well...Uh... On the set of my new movie GI Blues..."
"ON SET, HAVE YOU NO SHAME!"
"It was his dressing room!" Cecelia mentioned as Carlos laughed,
"Dee, sweetheart, they're married."
"Right... Does anyone else know?" Elvis and Cecelia both shook their heads no, "Good, we'll need a press kit and a party and..." Denise froze,
"Dee..."
"Mother..."
"Mama?"
"You're pregnant?" Denise exclaimed, her eyes widening in disbelief as Cecelia and Elvis exchanged excited nods. A radiant smile spread across her face as the realization sank in. "I’m a Grandma... No, Granddiva!" she added playfully, her laughter bubbling up like sparkling champagne, filling the room with joy.
"Carlos, we're grands!"
"When did you two get married?" Elvis inquired, leaning forward in his seat with curiosity gleaming in his eyes.
"Oh, it was during a tour when I was in Vegas..." She offered a casual shrug, a playful smile dancing on her lips as memories flickered across her face.
"You didn’t tell m—”
Denise raised her hand, silencing her daughter with a gentle but firm gesture. “Says the one who got married last year in Germany...”
"Y-You knew?" Elvis’s surprise was palpable, his eyebrows lifting in astonishment.
“She's a mother first and a manager second,” Carlos chimed in, affectionately kissing his wife on the cheek, the warmth of their connection evident in every glance they exchanged.
1947 - Elvis enters seventh grade at Milam Junior High School
the family is living at 1010 Green Street in Tupelo, a house designated for whites only in a respectable ‘colored’ neighbourhood.
He was skinny and unremarkable--except that he sang too much.
Some students who enroll in school midyear create a sensation. They're the topic of hasty hallway exchanges between locker neighbors. They're furtively eyed in the cafeteria. At night they're evaluated in detail over the telephone.
But the shyish, skinny kid who entered Mrs. Camp's sixth grade class at Milam Junior High School in 1947 made no grand entrance. For one thing, he didn't enjoy the mystique of a distant former residence. He had transferred from a school just a few miles away in the east part of town
They would also live to berate themselves for lacking the foresight to tape record his vocalizing. Far from it, they grew downright weary of the weekly performances. But then how could a bunch of 11-year-olds be expected to divine in the youngster's wooden renditions of a schmaltzy ballad and a honky-tonk tune the future king of rock n roll?
'Every Friday in activity period he sang Old Shep and Frankie and Johnny', says Evelyn Helms, a member of Mrs. Camp's class and the mother of UTC professor Marilyn Helms.'He sang all the blessed time and drove us all crazy. We'd say, 'Oh, no, Elvis is gonna sing again'. If we'd only known'. Just 10 years later, Elvis Presley reserved the choice section at the foot of the Mississippi-Alabama Fairgrounds stage for his Milam classmates.
From the adoring faces and outstretched arms at his feet in a local newspaper photograph, it appears the poor boy turned idol was again driving his classmates crazy ... but nobody wanted him to stop singing any more.
1956: Elvis on September 26, 1956 in Tupelo, Mississippi. Tupelo Homecoming. Elvis was presented with the key of the city that day, and it was proclaimed "Elvis Presley Day" in Tupelo.
1970: Elvis in Tupelo, becoming a Sheriff of Lee County on December 29, 1970, with Tupelo Sheriff Bill Mitchell doing the honors.
GROOVY! 😎
I just found this footage of E performing "Polk Salad Annie" and there's a different dance move here at the chorus. It caught off guard… the hips game! 😍 Also, look at how shiny the leather is on the stunning White Cisco Kid Two-piece with black shoulders suit. This is 1971.
When y’all are writing is there ever a point when you’re like “if someone does not lose their mind over this specific bit right here then what am I even doing?”
On July 3rd, 1793, a decree from the Convention ordered the separation of Louis Charles from the rest of his family. An account of this day written by his sister, Marie Therese, describes the suffering of this separation:
‘On the 3d of July, they read us a decree of the Convention ordering that my brother be separated from us and lodged in a more secure room in the Tower. Hardly had he heard it when he flung himself into his mother’s arms uttering loud cries, and imploring not to be parted from her. My mother, on her side, was struck down by the cruel order; she would not give up her son, and defended, against the municipals, the bed on which she placed him. They, absolutely determined to have him, threatened to employ violence and to call up the guard.
My mother told them they would have to kill her before they could tear her child from her. An hour passed in resistance on her part, in threats and insults from the municipals, in tears and efforts from all of us. At last they threatened my mother so positively to kill him and us also that she had to yield for love of us.
We rose, my aunt and I, for my poor mother no longer had any strength, but after we had dressed him she took him and gave him into the hands of the municipals herself, bathing him with tears and foreboding that she would never see him again. The poor little boy kissed us all very tenderly and went away in tears with the municipals.’
2087
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