goddesses don’t weep, my child, they scream. -> from maman ofc 🙂↕️
𝐄𝐗𝐓𝐑𝐀𝐎𝐃𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐀𝐑𝐘 & 𝐍𝐎𝐑𝐌𝐀𝐋.
over the vast, pale planes of his shoulders, beside his reflection – smoky eye makeup is now murky with bloody tears carving a path down their cheeks, trembling, a mess of glitter & emotional viscera – stands a vision in white he's proud to call his maman with concern etched deeply into her features. nails dig into the surface of their vanity, scratching harsh lines all the way down with a slow, shrill shriek. heart pounds at his ribcage like a bass drum alongside that of another ; it has since the moment he set foot in the stadium. that maddening, inescapable, incessant thump, thump, thumping of a companion heart in time with his thrums in lestat's blood – white hot & laced with only the finest red wine for the frontman, himself -- pulses between his ears with a ferocity that threatens to split him in two.
❝ goddammit – ❞ mutters lestat to their tear - streaked face, makeup in ruins with no time to wipe away vermillion stains & paint over their despair with a fresh smattering of glitter. yet another misfortune to curse louis for. ❝ the pure, unbridled audacity of him to come to my show after sharing the stories of his life, my life, our daughter's life – our lives together – with mortal ears – ! now millions, if not billions of mortal eyes – ! and armand . . . ❞ a wolfish smile from the wolfkiller himself spreads slowly across his face – stretching wide & stopping just before it bleeds into wild eyes. ❝ armaaaaannnnd . . . ❞ laughs lestat, like the name itself is a joke. head falls forward & shoulders shake with thin, wheezing laughter in a heap at his vanity. ring adorned fingers curl into tight fists atop its damaged surface, pricking his palms & unfurling again to grip table's edge.
lestat raises one hand to mirror's surface as he carries on through this wave of near hysteria, piercing the room with the ear - splitting sound of a nail scratching thick glass. A . . . R . . . M . . . ❝ he allowed that conniving little cunt to dig his filthy claws into his brain, stealing memories and rearranging history like a thief of the mind – ! ❞ . . . A . . . N . . D. for a moment, lestat merely stands, trembling, staring at his crude carving before reeling back & with a furious roar, slashes sharp nails across the name. lestat watches as the glass shatters & falls to the floor in glittering shards. another night, another mirror broken. warm droplets race down his cheek bones & hang off his chin.
❝ two . . . two years he had to tell me of this, and never once did he . . . ❞ felicity's hand at his shoulder pulls lestat from their whirling frenzy of feeling, having nearly forgotten her presence behind him in the blur of it all. the advice she passes onto him does get an earnest chuckle, even if it's a curt one. he lifts a hand to curl his fingers around hers in a squeeze. ❝ oh, there will indeed be screaming, maman. not to worry. ❞
it's then that there's a knock on his dressing room door, then cracked open so that he may be told : mr. lioncourt, you have two minutes till showtime. ❝ thank you. ❞ lestat responds flatly, observing his face in broken glass, sliced into off - center, jagged fragments. he sighs through his nose. ❝ i may as well leave my face as it is. the mortals in the audience will lap it up with the rest of my suffering, little beasts that they are. ❞ lestat will flick pink - tipped hair over the opposite shoulder, finds eyes of a similar rosy hue, gazing up to meet his of violet. ❝ wish me luck, maman. the show must go on. ❞
