summary: It's been a year since Daniel Molloy's book was published, the salacious lives of vampires becoming a hot topic among the mortals.
It caused quite the uproar, especially in your quaint home in London, ripping through the pages and using them as kindling after you read word after insulting word.
When the famed fledgling journalist reached out, you saw it as an opportunity, as a way to get back at Armand and Louis, hoping that it would push away the faces that still haunted you.
story tags: Canon divergence, Flashbacks, No use of Y/N, Mentions of miscarriage, Heavy suicidal ideation, Forced vampirism, Kidnapping, Blood consumption, Alcohol & drug consumption through blood, Armand is not portrayed as a good person Louis is not portrayed as a good person, Major character death, Heavy angst, Planned suicide attempt, Slight enemies to lovers, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Romantic blood drinking, Nicotine consumption, Swearing
summary: It's been a year since Daniel Molloy's book was published, the salacious lives of vampires becoming a hot topic among the mortals.
It caused quite the uproar, especially in your quaint home in London, ripping through the pages and using them as kindling after you read word after insulting word.
When the famed fledgling journalist reached out, you saw it as an opportunity, as a way to get back at Armand and Louis, hoping that it would push away the faces that still haunted you.
story tags: Canon divergence, Flashbacks, No use of Y/N, Mentions of miscarriage, Heavy suicidal ideation, Forced vampirism, Kidnapping, Blood consumption, Alcohol & drug consumption through blood, Armand is not portrayed as a good person, Heavy angst, Planned suicide attempt, Slight enemies to lovers, Swearing
wc: 6.1k
a/n: First time writing in the IWTV fandom kinda nervous. I want to preface this fic by saying I LOVE ARMAND! I promise, I do.
I recently rewatched the show with my friend, and god it only made me rediscover how much I love this pathetic old man. This fic is very dark at times, and will continue to be in the future chapters, so please be advised.
I hope you guys enjoy this story!
not fully proof read
story playlist + story masterlist
There was a snapping crackle that came from the fireplace, warming the living room of your home. The orange and yellow hues make the deep red velvet of your couch sparkle under the slow sway of its flame, the fabric soft against your fingertips as you glide them along the armrest, patient but bored as Daniel Molloy set up his recording equipment.
Just a week ago you had gotten a letter from the journalist, his words professional and polite as he offered to interview you. He had explained that it would be your opportunity to clear up any misconceptions the public now had about you, knowing that you were angry with the skewed story Louis told.
“You know,” Daniel began, sitting back against the matching velvet couch that was just opposite of you, “That review you sent was really interesting.” He looked at you for the briefest second before looking back to his screen, “You said, and I quote “This is the worst fucking book I’ve ever read in my life. May every single lie uttered by Louis de Pointe du Lac and The Vampire Armand send them deeper into madness.” End quote.”
You nodded along to every word, raising your brows with pursed lips, “I feel like that’s not an unreasonable response.” A loud crackle comes from the fireplace, reflecting the slight irritation that swam in your porcelain green eyes.
“No, I mean-” Daniel chuckles, motioning towards his computer, “I thought it was hilarious! I expected this kind of response from Lestat of all people, but not from you.” He shakes his head slightly as he starts to type.
A scoff comes from you, “Well of course you wouldn’t. In Louis’ version I’m dead, some weak little vampire that turns Claudia against him.” You shake your head at the thought, your pointed fingernails digging into the velvet armrest, “I’m absolutely certain that my pathetic portrayal is Armand’s doing, correct?”
Daniel glances up at you with a raised brow, “What makes you say that?” He asks, leaning forward and placing his skinny laptop on the ornate coffee table that sat between the both of you.
“The way it’s worded sounds like him is all.” You dismiss it with a shrug, looking down at your legs briefly, “The man always held hatred for me. I’m sure that much was obvious as he recounted my falsified death.”
The man in front of you just stared, watching as you picked at the fabric of your freshly ironed dress pants. A nervous tick you hadn’t been able to will away in all your time, attempting to avert your thoughts to something more positive.
“Well we can save all the melodrama for the interview, yeah?” He gave a tight-lipped smile, typing some more on his laptop and adjusting the microphone sitting atop the polished mahogany, “Ready to begin?”
“Yes.” You gave one slow nod, sitting up a little straighter against the couch.
You were born in a small village, a place that resided along the forest with a polluted river that weaved through the middle, vines made homes in the cracks of crumbling buildings. Sickness picking off the weak, thieves stealing from food markets.
It was an unkind place to grow up in.
Mothers often died during childbirth, the fathers forced to work endlessly in order to provide what was merely crumbs of bread or half rotten produce. Children were often forced to fend for themselves, being left to their own devices in the horrible conditions of your forgotten village. Cast into the shadows by the government, seen as worthless and cursed by a plague.
You were seen as one of the lucky, your mother still living and your father strong enough to still work. Out of your five siblings, you were the youngest, growing up quickly in such a rugged era. A time where grime was like a second skin, and death had become something to expect sooner rather than later.
As a teen you were sent to assist on the local farm, it was your parents’ way of getting their foot in the door. Hoping that the farmer would accept their proposal to marry his son off to you. It was more transactionary than anything, your father providing his masonry skills in exchange for meat and eggs.
Your other siblings had done the same, one sister being married off to a fisherman, while your brother was married to the village seamstress.
At that time you didn’t mind. After all, your hollow marriage filled the stomachs of your family, which you were happy to do if it meant your family no longer had to suffer under the harsh conditions of the village. And you felt responsible for them and for the future of your bloodline.
During your short-lived marriage with Thomas you attempted to provide him a child, but luck was not on your side. There were many times where you would be left sitting in a pool of your own blood, your abdomen flexing painfully as yet another pregnancy failed you. It always sent you into an emotional whirlwind, feeling as if you were cursed, uselessly alive with a body that did not want to work.
It filled you with a sense of bitterness when you would watch your small nieces and nephews clutch to the skirts of their mothers. Every one of your siblings fortunate enough to provide your parents with a continued legacy of nothingness, these children forced to grow up in the same unforgiving world you were. In a village that did not care for them, around people that would take from them at a second’s glance.
Over time you began to shrink into the foreground of your family, not seen as highly as your other siblings were, not as important.
You remembered watching as sickness took your sister Lucy, then your brother Jude, their children and partners following not long after. Most of their labor had been pushed onto you, having to make up for the lost hands.
You mourned them for months after, finding yourself gazing up at the heavens most nights, whispering to your losses in quiet prayers.
Their passing had also struck your family deeply, your mother unable to leave the comfort of her feather mattress most days, eventually succumbing to her hunger. Your brother Mathias and sister Alice avoided you for the most part, keeping to their families and allowing you to tend to your father who was beginning to wither as well.
The burial of your father was when you first saw him, a lingering figure in the treeline just outside your village. Staring through the small crowd of your family, straight at you. He was gone in a blink, making you feel like your mind was playing tricks on you.
“Were you scared?” Daniel asks, interrupting your story, a yellow notepad sitting atop his crossed legs.
You blinked, pursing your lips in thought, “I remember being curious.” You recount, “He wasn’t someone I recognized, and we rarely got visitors from neighboring villages.”
The man nods, “Right, because of the plague curse or whatever.” His pencil scratches against the pages, “And how old would you say you were at this point?”
It was at the age of twenty five when you saw the man again, a pristine coat adorning his thin shoulders. He had a kind smile, eyes a sharp crystal blue, his skin as pale as snow. He was leaning against a tree just beside your family home, his gaze traveling up towards the sky that you stared at.
“Such a beautiful sight isn’t it? Like a breathtaking oil canvas.” The man mused, jolting you from your thoughts.
You had barely noticed his presence, merely thinking that it was one of your siblings coming to join you, having moved back into the home after your father’s passing.
Yet this man was a stranger, with a young face that would surely make any woman swoon at the sight of him. He didn’t look away from the sparkling flames in the sky, a slow content sigh blowing from his nose.
“Are you lost, sir?” You asked politely, standing from your seat and walking closer, brows knit together in concern.
“Not lost, dear child.” He smiles softly at you, his curled index finger brushing against your cheek. You shrink away from the touch, looking into his piercing eyes, “I am wandering. And it seems I have found what I’m looking for.” He tilts his head slightly, “You have such a look in your eyes. You yearn for more, don’t you, little bird?” His honeyed words wrapped around you, your cheeks growing warmer as he brought his face closer to yours.
“I don’t know what it is you speak of.” You answer quietly, voice meek and nervous as you start to pick at a string on your old skirt, “I am to provide for my family, nothing more.”
The man chuckles softly, “Oh but is that what you want? Is that what your dear heart desires?” He brings a hand to your cheek, compelling you to lean into his touch, “Are you satisfied by the dull life you have?” His words were whispered into the wind, clouding your thoughts, “Don’t you want more for yourself?”
Your heart jumped at the thought. Of course you were not satisfied with your life, but it was what was expected of you. What you were born to do, created to provide and continue the family with your own blood, which you had failed to do.
“I can give you a new life. Happiness beyond your comprehension.” It was as if an angel was guiding you to darkness, the littlest shred of doubt you had snuffed out by his gentle touch, “Allow me to give you the family you crave so deeply.” He urged, his soft lips gracing the apple of your cheek.
There was something that broke within you at the idea, he was promising you something impossible. Your greatest disappointment brought from the deepest parts of your mind, now laying in front of you, exposed and raw.
“I’ve been watching you for some time, my little dove.” His words were seducing you, making you melt into him, his hands caressed your skin with the kind of love you had dreamed about, “I know the pain you feel inside. The guilt, the sadness. I can take it all away if you allow me.”
“Yes.” You whispered pathetically, your bottom lip trembling at the mere thought of your betrayal.
You were willing to leave your family, your dear husband, to go with this man that seemed to have a rope tied around your very soul, tugging you closer.
The mysterious man left you with that answer, disappearing into the wind like he had never been there, once again making it feel as if you had imagined it all. The feeling he left you with was something you desired to experience again for days thereafter.
At night your eyes would be trained on the treeline, hoping to catch a glimpse of the stranger.
When you awoke one morning, there was a small flower lying on your windowsill, a piece of folded parchment just beneath the fragile stem.
“A classic Romeo archetype, how romantic.” Daniel spoke sarcastically, “Do you remember what the note said?” He asks after a beat of silence, looking up from his notepad.
A small sigh falls from your lips, “Unfortunately, I don’t. It’s been so long that it’s hard to say. Probably the same flowery bullshit he always said to lure me in.” You couldn’t help but roll your eyes at the very idea of it, at your young naive hope.
“I see.” The man nods, jotting down your words, “What year did you say this happened?”
You hum, thinking it over, “It was around seventeen-thirty if I remember correctly.”
By the second week of waiting, the mysterious man finally returned under the cover of night, sporting the same kind smile he gave you last time. He held a hand for you, allowing you to hold his elbow like a Lady as he walked you towards the edge of the skinny river that weaved through your village.
He told you how his own home resided within the dense forest, just outside one of the nearby settlements.
His voice left a low hum inside your ribcage, wrapping around your fragile heart with a sense of comfort that you had never felt. Words of promise and love that you had never heard uttered in your direction, not even from your own husband, who now spent more time at the farm than with you.
“What is your name?” You ask quietly, looking up at the man beside you.
“Fabian.” He responds kindly, offering his hand. He brought your knuckles to his lips in a gentle kiss, “I would like you to come back with me, for I am utterly lonely without you beside me.”
It didn’t take much to convince you otherwise. He had a hold on your thoughts, not allowing you a second to rethink your steps as you allowed him to guide you through the forest.
The only moment of clarity you had was when you stepped through the threshold of his home, seeing a body lying on the carpet in front of his fireplace. Icy terror washed over you, filling your heart as your eyes widened in fear. The man was surrounded in a pool of blood, skin greyed in his death, eyes a milky white.
“I apologize for the mess, my dear.” Fabian whispered into your ear, his hand cradling your face and making you look away from the gruesome scene.
His jewel-like eyes stared into your teary ones, a relaxed smile adorning his pale features. The gentle scrape of his elongated nails along your jaw made you shiver, your eyes fluttering closed as his voice infiltrated your mind, willing you to relax against him.
“You’re home now, little bird.” His voice echoes, “My companion, my love, you will be mine for eternity.”
Fabian’s touch was tender as he tilted your head back, his lips gliding along the quickened heartbeat beneath your heated skin. He lays a kiss against your pulse, his words fade as pain sears through you, forcing a gasp from your quivering lips.
He holds you against him with a fierce grip, your body sagging as your head swims. The room seemed to spin around you as he laid you to the ground, your breathing shallow and your vision beginning to blur. You felt like you would float away if it wasn’t for his hand on your shoulder.
“Drink.” He urges, the thick warmth dripping onto your cold lips. The taste of it was bitter, yet it was the sweetest nectar, the iron taste of it buzzing across your tastebuds with a thirst for more. He pressed his cut wrist against your trembling lips, allowing you to drink from him to your heart's content.
His breathing was ragged as he watched you lap at his blood like a hungry dog, fingers digging into the skin of his forearm, he groaned before finally ripping himself away from you.
“Greedy little thing.” Fabian lets out an airy laugh, fingers caressing your hairline as you start to thrash on the wooden floor of his home.
You curled into yourself, every fiber of your being feeling like it was alight, unseen flames consuming you. Your heart hammered violently in your chest, your mouth going dry and your ears ringing, it was impossible to catch your breath, fingers helplessly clutching at the fabric of Fabian’s trousers.
You were dying, as you learned later from your maker. A mortal death that ushers in your new immortal life.
The next year had been spent in an endless whirlwind of incomprehensible thoughts, the guilt of what you had allowed Fabian to do becoming a heavy weight with each innocent person you killed. You were a monster, a vicious predator that could barely contain your appetite.
The surrounding villages were not safe from your insatiable hunger, a rumored plague sweeping through and leaving victims void of their blood. Fabian often times being the one to help you, his honeyed words clinging to your heart as you cried against his chest, cursing him for doing this to you.
After a decade of it just being the two of you, Fabian brought home another. A small child no older than the age of nine, his hand large on the young boy’s shoulder. You watch him with wary eyes, not knowing what he was planning to do.
“I promised one thing before bestowing the dark gift to you.” Fabian mused, “Do you remember what that was, my love?”
Daniel stared at you, surprised as you spoke, “You’re kidding, right?” He asks.
A dull ache filled your chest, “Fabian was desperate to have a family of his own. His previous coven had walked into the sun, and he wanted to fill the gap they left in any way he saw fit, I was only the beginning.” You tell the journalist with a bitter tone, your jaw clenching angrily. “He- he would insist on it. Saying that it would be perfect for the both of us. But it just made me sick.”
The young child, Jacob, aged with his fragile mind fractured. As he grew older the more violent he became, Fabian was losing his grip when it came to controlling the child, the last decade finally taking a toll on him.
Jacob was unable to cope with his predicament, trapped like a baby bird with broken wings. He quickly became reckless, nearly exposing your collective existence a multitude of times, eventually forcing Fabian’s hand.
“You must kill him, my love.” He whispered next to your ear one night, the confines of your shared coffin suddenly suffocating after he uttered the words.
“Did you do it?” Daniel suddenly asks, watching as you bit your lip.
“I had no choice in the matter.” You respond quietly, “He had brought home so many children, of all ages, and every one of them suffered the same way Jacob did. Not able to cope with it all, much too fragile to wield the Dark Gift.” Your eyes stung harshly as each one of their faces flashed in your mind,
“If I wasn’t the one doing it, my maker would. He would force me to watch as he slowly killed them, tearing them apart piece by piece, telling me that it was my fault they were suffering.” A crimson tear rolled down your cheek, your head bowing as guilt festered deep within your chest, “It was by my hands, and only mine, that these children would receive a merciful death.”
By the late seventeen-hundreds Fabian was growing tired of your presence. His anger began to topple over the edge, each one of his fledglings a failure aside from you, blaming you for his failed promises.
“You all but begged for a family in the dead of night, your pathetic voice calling out to me! Praying for me to save you! That is why I came to you all those years ago!” He seethes, jewel-like eyes predatory as he cages you against the wall of your shared home, “I give you what you want, and you dare be dissatisfied?! An ungrateful little wretch you’ve become, my love.” His hand was around your throat in a blink, nails digging into the soft skin and drawing blood.
In that moment you were almost hopeful that he would kill you, finally ending your misery. But you were not fortunate enough.
Fabian pushed you away, leaving you enough money to carry you into the next century, forcing you from his home and away from him for good.
He casted you out like a mutt being thrown into the rain, discarding you like you meant nothing to him. There was nothing you could say that would convince him otherwise, the cold look in his eyes making you shrink back-
“Just like that, he gets rid of you?” Daniel asks skeptically, “What about the vampire bond? You were both together for several decades, surely that meant something to him?”
You couldn’t help but let out a laugh, shaking your head, “I couldn’t tell you, honestly.” You shrug, “I know that Fabian cared for me in his own way, but my defiance was becoming troublesome.”
You tilt your head slightly, thinking deeper on the situation itself, “I truly think it was a moment of mercy that made him send me away that night. Our decades together saved me from the same gruesome death that his other fledglings suffered.” There was a scribble of a pencil after your words, “But it was clear that he wanted to start from scratch, thinking that finding another, more agreeable version of me would suffice.”
“I see.” Daniel mutters, “But I guess this Fabian fella is kinda pointless in the grand-scheme of things, right?”
A hum comes from you, crossing your leg over the other with a shrug, “He has importance as my maker and former companion, but nothing more.” Daniel’s pencil scratches against the yellow pages once more, “Any romantic feelings I had for him in the beginning quickly faded after a fifth child walked through the doors of our home, knowing exactly what he would force me to do a decade after.”
Your eyes stay locked onto the flames in the fireplace, feeling your heart clench as the horrendous memories echoed in your head. The screams as Fabian would drag them from their coffins and throw them at your feet, angrily telling you what must be done.
With the money he provided you began to travel, attempting to find a place to stay. You had become quickly accustomed to the ocean, the disgusting taste of rats and seagulls lingering on your tongue in a taunting manner.
Some nights you would drain unsuspecting ship passengers, particularly ones that had finally reached the bottom of the bottle, hoping that the alcohol in their blood would numb the torrent of emotions that weighed you down. Destroying yourself for a moment of quiet, haunted by the past and steeping in the bitterness of it all.
It made for a depressing existence, finding yourself lost and merely floating from continent to continent, until you ultimately ended up in Paris. Scarred and attempting to recover from the pain that was the ongoing French Revolution, it was familiarity that settled around you like a thick blanket, the same pain you felt in your mortal life.
Not long after your arrival you could sense the presence of another. The feeling tugged you forward, finding yourself at a theater. Where on the stage was a blonde, singing and gliding through the candlelight with pristine beauty. His movements were smooth, effortlessly drawing in the crowd with his poetic words.
Lestat de Lioncourt was his name, a young fledgling that had been abandoned by his maker. He had a love for the audience, still intrigued by the company of humans, even having a mortal lover.
You took it upon yourself to introduce yourself, being drawn in by the vampire. Lestat was interesting, charming, melding his words in any way so he could to get what he desired.
He was reluctant at first, to be around another vampire, but it was clear that he was lonely in his immortal life, just as you were.
Even though he had Nicolas, whom he loved deeply, he didn’t have anyone else who truly understood what he was going through.
Him and Nicolas had quickly become a constant in your life, watching his performances with amazement, oftentimes sharing your unspoken thoughts with one another as he stood upon the stage. Lestat’s internal sarcasm and mockery towards the mortals in the audience was humorous, finding yourself sharing the same thoughts.
Most nights Lestat and you would walk along the cobblestone roads of Paris together, retelling stories of your human lives or your makers and the wounds they had branded you both with. It was a nice sense of comfort, knowing that you weren’t alone with the pain that tormented your every waking moment.
It was on one of these many walks that another vampire revealed himself, one that you had felt watching you for some time.
The man looked disheveled and exhausted, haunted eyes staring directly into your damned soul. He looked to be no older than twenty, yet he was strong, able to make the world stop around you, forcing both Lestat and you to kneel to the ground like obedient followers.
He had introduced himself as Armand, a fierce vampire that possessed powers you could only dream of having.
His interest was mostly in Lestat, finding himself drawn to the younger vampire, keeping him in Paris and using Nicolas as leverage. Taunting the both of them with his love and obsession for your friend, driving poor Nicolas further into madness.
You helped found the theater with Lestat and Armand, mostly in the background doing the costuming and directing. It was quaint, a nice way to get your mind off of things, even though Lestat was beginning to drift and focus more on Armand.
Théâtre des Vampires was perfect, the immortal now able to live amongst unsuspecting humans, no longer forced to settle in a disgusting hovel housing rats and cockroaches. You were like royalty amongst sewer dwellers, feasting nightly under the cover of theatrics, keeping a close watch on unknowing vampires that happened to wander into claimed territory.
You had watched Lestat abandon his lovers, ultimately leaving the theater to Armand and you. You understood his reasoning, but in the end it didn’t make his departure hurt any less. Lestat had been the only vampire that showed you what a true friendship could be, almost like a brother to you in the short time you had known him.
It was the start of a tense partnership, the disdain that Armand had for you obvious, taking his anger out on you subtly, forcing you into the spotlight of the stage in Lestat’s place.
Years you had spent performing, given roles that were a mockery of your existence. Cast to play a dangerous vampire that would kidnap local village children, your past used to torment you, forcing you back into a shell of shame and self-hatred.
“Well, that’s pretty fucked up.” Daniel comments, “But I also have another question.”
You lean against the velvet armrest more, allowing yourself to relax against the soft fabric, motioning for him to continue.
“How come Armand didn’t just put you on trial for all the vampires you killed? I mean, he clearly knows what happened if he’s writing a play about it, so why did he let your crimes slide? Especially if he hated you as much as you say he did.” The man gives you an inquisitive look, his pointed nails trailing along the spine of his notepad.
“Being forced to play that role was my punishment. He knew that I wished for death, so instead I was forced to humiliate myself and relive my greatest regrets nightly for the entertainment of mortals.” Your words were bitter, your hands clenching into fists in your lap, remembering how they would laugh when you’d bite into the necks of your screaming scene partner.
Over time you became more numb, your loneliness crawling back in Lestat’s absence, finding the company of your fellow coven members to be lacking in anything worthy of your time. Even then, you cared for them, watching after them as you once did with your mortal family, but it did not fulfill you.
Decades melded together in an endless routine of boredom, your only source of entertainment being the petty arguments you would get into with Armand. Bickering like children when it came to his script changes, or his sneers at your costume choices for new acts. You merely put up with each other as a means to an end, with you still remaining loyal even in your shared hatred for each other.
It was in the mid eighteen-hundreds that a new fledgling was brought into the fold of the coven. An arrogant man that called himself Santiago.
He was barely a few months a vampire when Armand found him, casting his creator into a box for eternity and giving Santiago a choice. To which he accepted, still holding the pathetic fearful look in his eyes that he so desperately tried to cover up.
You found his very presence infuriating, and the budding relationship between him and Eglee utterly annoying. The way they would prance around each other like peacocks, disturbing what little peace you had in the basements of the theater.
Santiago got under your skin almost as much as Armand did, arguments sprouting between the two of you, the man taking advantage of your short fuse.
His eyes would practically sparkle as he cackled in your face, mocking your anger with petty insults. His sharp nails trailing across your angry features as he attempted to cage you in, only to end up pinned to the floorboards, his mind churning with the incessant ringing in his ears.
He did not wield the strength you had, but that did not stop him, his cunning words and narrow-eyed smiles worked well to fill you with unspeakable rage. Taunting you about your past, making a mockery of the role you were forced to play both on stage and in life.
Unfortunately for you, Armand had noticed this particular hatred the two of you had for each other. Encouraging Sam to write a new scene of the play, specifically crafted roles for Santiago and you.
“What is this?” You asked the playwright, brows furrowed as you read over the script.
It was a tragic love story between a vampire and human, where the human dies at the hands of her lover, the vampire walking into the sun due to his own grief. It was an insulting concept, even more so when the role was being forced upon you.
“The first show will be in a week, study your script and don’t be late for rehearsals.” The vampire replied simply before walking off.
“Jeez, someone must have really pissed in Armand’s cornflakes.” Daniel joked, laughing a little bit.
“Are you here to make a mockery of me too, Mr. Molloy?” You ask him with narrowed eyes, “I understand that Armand is your creator, but you’ve seen what kind of monster he can be when someone wrongs him.”
Daniel hums with a nod, “Yeah. He sure knows how to hold a grudge, I’ll give him that much.” A chuckle fills the room, making a small smile quirk up on your lips.
“That he does.” You agree, nodding to his words, “With the play becoming more popular I became much quieter around the coven, my voice only being projected through the auditorium and nowhere else.”
You were being worn down night after night, once again feeling uselessly alive in a world that you did not belong in. The shame and humiliation was beginning to take a toll, leaving you feeling empty. The alcohol or drugs that you would seek out in mortal blood did not will away the suffocating numbness you felt inside, instead it was amplified, making you sink further into the abyss.
The coven was starting to notice your shift, you could hear them whispering about it as you lay in your coffin. Their voices melding with the echoing screams inside your head.
It was one night on stage that you truly snapped, twenty years now you were forced to play the role of Santiago’s human lover, with one of his hands settled on your waist, his other slowly gliding up your stomach to your sternum, bowing you slowly and whispering his scripted love to you.
He would become so absorbed into his role, his eyes reflecting that of adoration of devotion, almost making you feel like his words held truth. His hand went from your chest to your neck, tilting your head backwards and allowing his lips to guide across your dead pulse.
“For eternity, my love, you will be within my arms.” He whispered, too quiet for the audience to hear his line as they should, “My mortal, my angel, my companion.” His fangs pierced the cold skin of your neck, making your eyes roll back, electricity buzzing through your veins at the feeling.
He lowered you gently to the floor as he drank, your head feeling light and your fingertips tingling as you reached for him.
“My love… You are killing me…” You said the scripted line with an airy breath, “But I am happy that you are the one to deliver me to Death.”
Santiago detached himself, slowly leaning back and cupping your face. Your eyes closed with a feigned death, hearing the audience whisper amongst themselves as Santiago’s grieving cries echoed throughout the auditorium.
For the briefest second, when the two of you were on that stage, you felt truly loved. As you had felt in the beginning by Fabian, or by your mortal husband. Only for that feeling to be stripped completely of meaning when you walked from the spotlight, Santiago’s cold attitude towards you returning.
It was like something had shifted inside of you after that performance, the pain inside finally exploding into a violent hurricane of self destruction. Your desire to be truly loved was merely a daydream that you clutched onto, and you were tired of it, tired of being tormented and played with.
For the remainder of the night you walked, seeking out the Pigalle red-light district. Planning to wait for the morning sun, dulling your fears with the blood of inebriated mortals that walked amongst the illuminated streets.
You found yourself at the Moulin Rouge, watching one of the many cabaret shows that were performing well into the early hours of the morning.
You sat at one of the many tables around the stage. Leaning back as you watched the women dance scandalously, eliciting cheers from the audience, and concerned looks from others who had not known what they were stumbling into.
The Cancan was one of many things that breached the barrier of human morality, being called sinful and unruly, yet titillating and eyecatching.
You thought it was incredible that society had progressed the way it had. With you having grown up in a time period where a woman would have been murdered for doing such ludicrous acts for an audience, now performed confidently and without shame.
“Such a beautiful sight isn’t it?” A voice said from next to you, jolting you from your haze with the same words your creator had greeted you with.
For a mere second, when you looked to your left, you saw those same sharp blue eyes that had seduced you all those years ago. The drugs in your system were beginning to play tricks on you, it seemed.
“Not a trick, my dear.” Santiago’s voice sank through the mist of your hallucination, “Your mind is incredibly fragile, I could hear it calling to me in my coffin.”
A scoff falls from your lips, pressing yourself further back into your chair as you continue to watch the show. Not sparing him another glance after. He should not be here, for he would surely ruin your plans of greeting the morning sun.
“Go back to the theater, Santiago.” It was hard to mask how your words melded together drunkenly, your irritation spiking at the laugh he let out.
Santiago leans closer, his lips grazing the shell of your ear, “And why should I do that? I know what it is you plan to do after I leave.” His hand came up to cradle the side of your face, turning you to look at him, “Your suffering infects your blood and the bitterness of it flows through me nightly. I see what torments you, I feel it as deeply as you do because of this.”
Your breath stuttered in your lungs, the effects of what you drank quickly wearing off in his presence, “I just want it to end.” You whisper quietly, the pain sinking back in like an old friend.
“Then allow me to end your suffering.” Santiago whispered, his nose nudging against yours in a teasing manner, “Allow me to mend what is broken within you, so I don’t have to drink the bitterness of it anymore.”
“Yes…”
Yes, the same response that sealed your mortal life well over a century ago. Now muttered to a man that you claimed to hate, believing his words to be genuine as he guided you into a gentle kiss.
summary: It's been a year since Daniel Molloy's book was published, the salacious lives of vampires becoming a hot topic among the mortals.
It caused quite the uproar, especially in your quaint home in London, ripping through the pages and using them as kindling after you read word after insulting word.
When the famed fledgling journalist reached out, you saw it as an opportunity, as a way to get back at Armand and Louis, hoping that it would push away the faces that still haunted you.
story tags: Canon divergence, Flashbacks, No use of Y/N, Blood consumption, Slight emotional torment of mortals? It's a vampire story so are we surprised, Not a lot of Daniel in this chapter (i got carried away with other things), Drinking from another vampire, Slight angst, Fluff, Slight enemies to lovers, Emotional conflict, Swearing
wc: 3.5k
a/n: I need Santiago so bad it's not even funny, this story is so absolutely self indulgent and for my 2 other Santiago girlies who are also obsessed with him. Here's a cute little chapter.
not fully proof read
story playlist + story masterlist
The click-clacking of Daniel’s keyboard helped drown out your thoughts, your eyes tired as they stared past the fluttering curtains that hung around the open balcony door.
The night sky was a black abyss, not a star in sight thanks to the city lights. You mourned the painted purples and blues of the endless universe, bright stars mingling together in a sea of light, now shrouded in darkness like an empty void.
“How did you sleep?” Daniel asks, glancing up at you.
“Fine.” You answer plainly, your fingers tracing the edge of the velvet cushion you sat on.
Daniel narrowed his eyes skeptically, opting to stay quiet instead of pressing for a better answer.
Truth be told, the memories had been a heavy weight on you the day before, after Daniel left your home. You were unable to find peace inside your coffin as the haunting images branded the back of your eyelids. Forcing you to relive your worst moments each time your eyes slipped closed, leaving you nailed down to the silk lining inside the wooden box.
You had long since become used to sleepless nights, which had become more frequent ever since you read Daniel’s book.
The way you were described not only filled you with an immeasurable amount of anger, but the guilt crawled back out of the cracks of your mind like a starving dog, ready to eat you alive once again. A healed wound viciously cut back open and left to bleed out on the sacrificial pages, your blood shaped to Armand’s slanderous words.
Guilt was such a fickle emotion to humans, coming and going, or simply ignored. But to vampires it was all consuming, the Dark Gift amplifying the endless dreadful feeling. It paralyzed you in your self hatred, shackled to your torment, a painful echo chamber.
So now you sat in front of the journalist, in the same place as yesterday, exhausted and hungry without the motivation to do anything about it.
“Alright, session two starts now,” Daniel taps the spacebar on his keyboard, flips a few pages of his yellow notepad and looks up at you, “We left off at the Moulin Rouge.”
You give a slow nod, pursing your lips, “Yes, we did, when Santiago came to find me.”
“Was this the start of your companionship with him?” Daniel asks after a beat of silence, your eyes averting towards the carpet beneath the mahogany coffee table.
A small smile curved the corner of your lips, “Oh no, far from that.” You answer, “The offer was made for his own benefit, not as a confession of love or real devotion.” Daniel tilts his head upwards in a nod, “And even though I had accepted it at the Moulin Rouge, I didn’t make it easy for him.”
After that night Santiago’s gaze often found yours in the reflection of his vanity mirror. His eyes rimmed with black and his face smeared with white greasepaint as he got ready for yet another show. Eglee would usually be behind him, her fingers carding through his blonde hair, yet his eyes never left you.
He watched as you painted one of the new set pieces, lost in thought.
A new creation of Sam’s was going to be taking the spotlight temporarily. You were tasked to clean up after the final act, repairing the costumes as you used to do, and making sure that everyone had their updated scripts before rehearsals.
It relieved you from the humiliation for a night or two, allowing you to relax in the quiet of the theater basement as you mopped up the blood that was quickly drying to the floorboards. A result of Santiago’s role as Death, lulling the unfortunate sacrifice of the night into a sense of peace as he gently guided them into acceptance.
“No pain… No pain…” The words almost made you roll your eyes as he whispered them to his victim, bringing the audience to the edge of their seats as they took in the uncomfortable scene.
The young girl that had fallen victim to your coven that night was feather-light as you carried her into the wet room. You threw her into the empty body box with little care, watching as she landed on her back, empty eyes staring up towards the ceiling.
You lingered there for a moment, wondering what kind of life she must have had before tonight, what her dreams were, if she was a mother, or a sister, or maybe both.
“Contemplating jumping in alongside her?” A voice said from the entrance of the dimly lit room. Santiago was leaning against the wall casually, his hair now disheveled and his face mostly clean of the makeup he had so meticulously put on hours ago.
“Not today.” You reply quietly, “Just thinking about something.”
The man hummed, walking further into the room and looking into the box with a bored expression, “Her blood tasted of cheap booze and desperation. Almost reminded me of you, only yours is sharp like an overly acidic lemon burning my wounded tongue.”
“Are you here to mock me?” You ask bitterly, glaring at the man that stood across from you, “Because if so, I’d rather you leave me.”
“Oh no, I’m here to make a proposal, if you’re willing.” Santiago smiles slowly, leaning slightly over the open box.
You look at him suspiciously, waiting for him to continue.
“I heard whispers of a party being hosted tonight on the outskirts of the city.” His nails slowly trace the metal edge of the rat box.
“And why is that my concern?” The question comes out harsher than you intend, making Santiago’s smile only widen.
“The coven members want to go, seeing as we haven’t had a real feast in quite some time. I thought I would extend the invitation to you, since you rarely leave the theater.” He tilts his head as he speaks, eyes not leaving you.
“I’m fine.” You answer coldly, “I hope you enjoy yourselves.”
“You haven’t eaten in two days.” Santiago says, his tone suddenly shifting to something much more serious, “I’m sure you’re set on starving yourself, but we have a show tomorrow evening, a rather important one at that.”
His intentions were clear, he wasn’t going to allow you to back out.
You stare at him for a moment, “I don’t need to eat as regularly as the others do, you know this.” You dismiss his words as you loudly shut the box in front of you, sealing away the body inside.
Santiago was beside you in a blink, his hand stopping yours on the safety lever. His fingers curled around yours, forcing you to look at him.
“Do not make me beg.” Santiago said, voice low, “I’d rather not spend our performance pulling you off mortals in the audience.”
“Do you think I lack self control?” You snatch your hand away, instead using your mind to pull the lever upwards. Hearing as the rats scamper into the neighboring box, their high pitched squeaks echoing through the otherwise quiet room. “I do not need you to coddle me like a helpless child, Santiago.”
He stepped away finally, simply rolling his eyes at your defiance and walking to the stairs of the wet room.
“I’ll be waiting for you in the lobby. I had Celeste pick a dress out for you.” He turned back to you, “Allow yourself to live for one night at the very least, then you can continue to wallow in your misery if you’d like.”
He left you no room to argue, and even in your stubbornness you knew that he was right. The hunger ate away at you just as the guilt did, something primal inside of you attempting to claw its way out.
So, much to your dismay, you walked up the stairs not long after he did, your footsteps echoing quietly as you entered the empty greenroom to get dressed.
The lobby was empty aside from Santiago, who now wore a dark blue suit, a white cravat tied around his neck, peaking past the collar of his embroidered waistcoat. Golden flowers stretched along the hem of his coat, intricate needlework that you had rarely seen on the common-folk in France.
He was standing at the theater doors with his hands behind his back, watching as people walked along the cobbled streets, blissfully unaware of what would transpire tonight.
“I hope the dress Celeste picked is to your liking.” The man says without turning to see you, instead opting to adjust the lacey ruffles at his sleeves.
“It’ll do.” You reply simply, glancing down at your attire.
It was entirely different from what you would have picked out for yourself.
A bustle cage was secured at your waist, extenuating your figure in a bell-shape, allowing the silken ruffles and lace to pour down behind you like a waterfall of deep purples with black accents, decorated with intricate embroidery and jewels sewn into the fabric. The collar of the dress was made of itchy lace ruffles that tickled your jaw.
“My, it seems there is a silhouette beneath those dreary cloaks you usually wear.” He teases as he finally fixes his eyes on you, taking in your appearance, drawing attention to the way your dress hugged around your midsection.
You felt out of your skin, barely having recognized yourself in the mirror as you put on each layer. This kind of dress was never meant for someone like you, it was far too beautiful to be worn by such a pitiful being.
“You are what makes the dress beautiful, my dear.” Santiago said suddenly, breaching your thoughts and clinging onto your insecurities, “Don’t doubt that for a second.” His gentle words made your breath hitch, the way he walked over to you with such a warm smile with his hand extended as an offer.
It took two carriages to escort the coven, the ride itself mostly silent as you watched the city slowly pass by through the window. Your body shifts uncomfortably as you attempt to swallow the dryness in your throat.
The mansion itself was ginormous, a glorious display of wealth and luxury. Tall bowed windows with a balcony just above the front door, allowing guests to take in the beautiful statues and hedges that lined the property.
Screams melded together in a beautiful symphony as your coven tore through the party guests like a pack of starved wolves. Beautiful polished floors were stained red, the chandelier hanging from the painted ceiling reflecting in the pools that stretched along the hardwood.
Blood stained the front of your dress as you sank your teeth into another unfortunate party-goer, her shrill scream only making you bite harder. She clawed against your forearm as you brought her closer, her hands weakly pushing against your chest before she finally gave up, going limp in your hold.
It felt like you were floating in waves of honey. Never in your life have you felt such a sense of euphoria, floating along the floors and sinking your teeth into anyone who was unfortunate enough to beg you for help.
As you stalked through the party you could feel his eyes on you, watching as you walked up the stairs of the expansive mansion.
You were reduced into something feral, reveling in the terror that swam in your new victim’s tearful eyes. A wicked smile stretched across your features as you toyed with him, listening to his black buckle shoes clap loudly against the pristine oak floors as he attempted to outrun you.
The fear rolled off him in waves, a scent as pure as fresh roses filling your senses, only making you hungrier.
The man glanced over his shoulder, watching you stalk towards him with a predatory stride, before his body hit something solid. A blood soaked barrier made him stumble backwards and bump into you, a sobbing scream caught in his throat as he was caged in.
Blood stained the beauty that was Santiago’s suit, red mingling with the dark blue and dazzling gold. A pastel pink handkerchief was pinched between his fingers, wiping away the evidence from his lips, his expression was calm but his eyes were hungry.
He took a step closer to the man in front of you, making him shrink back against you, now wedged between the two of you.
“Having fun?” Santiago asks you, ignoring the man’s pleading words to be spared. Santiago merely places a hand on the mortal man’s shoulder, feeling him tremble beneath his touch, “Aw,” He mocks, looking in the man’s eyes, “Poor little thing.”
You didn’t want to give him the satisfaction of an answer. Instead your fingers tangled in the hair of your prey, his powdered wig long forgotten on the steps he had struggled to climb. Your teeth sank into his neck without a second thought, with Santiago following suit.
Pointed nails traced along your jugular, fingertips coming to rest on the back of your neck as Santaigo pulled you tighter against the man that stood between the two of you.
You drank fervently, the sweetened blood dripping down your chin and onto the black lace around your neck. A sigh fell from your lips when you finally lifted your head, stained tongue raking over your fangs.
Piercing blue eyes drew you from the haze that overtook your mind, a small laugh coming from you as the man’s body dropped to the ground in a heap.
Santiago stepped over the baby blue lump, his bloodied hand coming up to cup your jaw.
“You are quite the hunter, Ma chère.” He compliments, a smirk gracing his lips, now stained a prominent crimson.
Santiago didn’t stop walking, backing you into one of the many pillars that decorated the elaborate mansion. Your fingertips were tingling as you traced them along Santiago’s cheek, your other hand reaching for the one still holding your jaw.
“Seems the humans at this party have been indulging themselves quite a bit.” You whisper against his wrist, your lips tracing along the arteries underneath his pale skin, where his pulse hammered against your reddened lips, “Vin Mariani.”
Santiago watched you with parted lips and shallow breaths, dark pupils swallowing the bright blue of his irises.
This side of you was new to the man. Santiago was captivated by the confidence that bordered on seduction, surely provided by the tonic infused blood you’ve been drinking. He swallowed thickly when you looked at him from behind your lashes, your fangs finally piercing into the thin skin of his wrist.
A quiet gasp comes from Santiago as you drink from him. The taste of his blood is intoxicating, electric and almost sweet from his excitement. It washes through you like sunshine peaking through rainclouds, warm and addicting.
Your lips lingered on the quickly healing puncture wounds, your porcelain green eyes finally looking into his a second after. Santiago’s chest rose and fell with each deep breath he took, the look on his face unreadable as he rushed forth with a feverish kiss.
His lips mingled with yours in a quick paced dance that you almost struggled to keep up with in your haze. The hair at the base of your neck tangled around his fingers as he drew your body closer to his, pressing you harder into the pillar behind you.
Never in your life have you felt this desired, like a prize he fought hard to earn. With his hand falling from your neck to your waist, he finally separated himself with one final tug at your bottom lip. His nose brushed yours teasingly, your eyes fluttering open to meet his searing gaze.
Things shifted between Santiago and you after that night. What had previously been hatred and irritation melded into something else entirely, whether it was a mutual respect or a deeper understanding, you weren’t sure.
All you knew was that you wanted to feel it again. The euphoria of being in his presence after such a feast left you elated, feeling as if the world would bow to the sound of your silk slippers on the polished floors of the mansion.
The performance the night after went without issue, you even left the stage with a small smile on your lips. It felt as if a new life had been breathed into you, a new sense of worth that briefly swept away the painful memories that often tormented you as you stood in the spotlight.
The lingering happiness followed you for weeks thereafter, with Santiago occasionally whisking you away after performances so you could hunt together. He encouraged you to eat more than anything, allowing you to release the anger that had festered inside your heart for so long.
“What did you want to do with your life before you were turned?” You asked one night, walking on the cobbled sidewalk with him beside you.
The city atmosphere was calm, the sound of hooves clacking in the distance with a groaning carriage trailing behind it. Others occasionally pass by, stuck in their own conversations with their friends or loved ones.
A quiet chuckle comes from the man next to you, “I wanted to be an actor.” He responds after a moment, “That might come as a surprise, I’m sure.” The man jokes, his hand briefly finding the small of your back as a small group of mortal men pass the two of you.
“You signed your life away to the Devil so you could prance on a stage for eternity?” You tease, a smirk rising at the corner of your lips, eyes taking in the beauty of one of the many statues around Paris.
“If you wish to look at it in such a way, then yes. But that’s not truly why or how I became the handsome man you see before you now.” The cape hugging his shoulders fluttered against the wind, the candlelight of the streetlamps catching in his eyes as he looked at you, “What did you want to be?”
“When I was mortal I had little time to sit and think about what I wanted to be.” You replied dully, fingers twisting the fabric of your cloak, mulling over your answer, “I was young when I got married, barely even fourteen at the time. Because of this I had responsibilities to uphold, things expected of me that I could never do.”
The sadness that would have once consumed you at the thought was replaced by calm acceptance, knowing now that you would have died a miserable death of infection or starvation in that selfish village.
“Late at night, though, I would dream this childish dream.” A small laugh tumbles from your lips, “I would wonder what it was like to live as lavishly as the nobles in my country did. Where I would have clean linens, and I would wear fine silks shipped from overseas, and sleep on a bed big enough to fit three. A home big enough to host fancy parties.” Santiago puffed a laugh from his nose, a smile stretching along his cheeks as you spoke.
“A pampered life with wealth beyond your wildest dreams.” He finished, watching you nod in agreement, “It doesn’t seem entirely childish to me. A life like that would have suited you.”
Weeks melded into months as you spent time by Santiago’s side after shows, attempting to hide your shared glances in the theater and the way your soul craved him. You were quickly becoming enamored by the man, and you knew that the coven was beginning to notice the shift.
Whether it was luck or just uninterest, Armand didn’t interfere. Finally allowing you to know the comfort of happiness after almost a century of suffering.
But even still, the relationship between Santiago and you was not one of love. It was a lustful closeness, a transactionary kind of relationship that sweetened your blood just enough to satisfy him during your performances together.
Santiago was still still dancing around Eglee, and even occasionally Celeste, making a certain unexpected bitterness bloom in your chest most nights when you would return from your walks. Jealousy solidified in your throat, almost making you forget the long conversations you had with the man just hours prior.
Even if he helped provide you with the happiness you craved, and allowed you to feed to your heart’s content, you still felt used. Like you meant nothing to him, forgotten and only acknowledged when he was bored of the others.
While that was something you expected, it was the pain that reemerged over time that snuck up on you. A different kind of pain, almost heartbroken as you watch Eglee sit upon the man’s lap, toying with his blonde hair and whispering into his ear.
“At least attempt to mask your heartbreak.” Armand told you one night, his eyes following yours as Santiago and Eglee walked away from the theater, her hand holding his forearm.
A scoff left your mouth at his implication, “I do not love him, Maître.” You attempt to lie, feeling your chest tighten as the two disappear behind a building.
“Yet your heart weeps each time Santiago chooses someone else’s company over yours. Only love makes you feel the way you do right now.”
He left you with that, his words lingering and sprouting into thorns that squeezed around your heart. Making you wonder if this was what your life was going to be, if you were going to live as a third option, as a stress reliever for a careless man. Left wanting but never fully satisfied. Desired but not enough to be fully loved by another.
