I do not need a rosary to keep me sane. I am a creature of the darkness; birthed by the Devil himself. But, I've embraced the life. Perhaps it is for the reasons that the blackness of my heart matches the awful fate chosen for me. Or, maybe, it's the fact that I stake my claim on the human race, yet I can run from it when needed.
Lestat was my maker. Those eyes as cold as ice remind me of the feeling of his fangs on my still-warm skin, due to all the blood coursing in my veins. He found me wondering the streets after a long night of debauchery. Typical Lestat, he figured I looked unhappy.
He thought right. I do not give much credit to his sensitivity. The stench of blood on Lestat's raiment is too ludicrous for that. No. The senses that come with being a vampire allowed him to look deep into my human soul and search out all the darks secrets; all the nights I've killed (don't be foolish enough to assume that being the Creature of the Night was my first experience as a killer), all the nights I've mindlessly fucked, all the nights I've drugged myself with opium: all a sickening call for help.
I'm glad Lestat answered. I despise him to the very black marrow in my bones, but I admire his audacity. Now that I do not have the useless emotions to keep me down, I partake in even more hedonism that once before. Drinking human blood does not only satisfy me. It inspires me. I enjoy the lure, the chase, the innocent abandonment, the pitiful struggles, the anguished screams and the slow realization that tonight they are going to die! Death is such a hated word, but, once you embrace it, its glory fulfills you.
Do I have any regrets, you ask? One. I regret I didn't kill Lestat the day I had the chance. Can you imagine? I would be a legend! Killing my own maker! Vampires all over the world would rise and chant the name 'Louis…Louis…' For as much as they hate to speak about it, makers don't make you. They destroy you. Once they suck your blood it never leaves their system and you become a part of them, so much so that any thought of fleeing is subdued by that unconscious little link we all have. To break the bond, to have freedom would be euphoria.
It shall be done. Lestat will die.
By my hand and no other.
Until then, watch your neck. There I might be next….