I will always cry for the stolen innocence of young Lestat.
You don't understand; he was so good, so full of light, so in love with life and art and humanity. He, as a little child, used to cry for the witches who were killed years and years ago. He believed art would save them. He loved and wanted to be loved and wanted to be good so fucking much. His parents and brothers and lovers and life and maker were so cruel to him yet he still loved them and cared for them.
He was so full of light and it was all stolen from him in a horrifying way and everyone just refused to see him for who he really was deep inside. Yet he continued to fight, refused to walk into the fire, forgave the hands that hurt him.
I love him so much. I will always cry for the charming 'monster' and the hopeful young man that he was.







