It was her birthday. Or the day that they had always used to celebrate her birthday.
He sensed it in his heart.
A deep sadness not far from the street on which he stood. He knew whose sadness and he knew where. Peeling himself from the street light he leant against, Lestat walked through the darkness, ignoring the beating hearts and scent of blood coming from the mortals he passed. He had already fed tonight and he was needed elsewhere.
He could resist for the sake of an angel. His angel.
He approached the building without really thinking about it and, with his vampire agility, made his way in seconds to the balcony window of the bedroom. He saw through the glass a lone figure sitting by the fire, staring into it as if it were the abyss itself. In his hands, he held a fabric that Lestat recognised. His heart clamped tightly in his chest at the sight, and memories of things that had long since happened surfaced in his mind. He sensed that the other man knew he was there yet the figure made no movement and gave no indication that he was going to acknowledge the vampire on the balcony.
With the same silence and speed with which he had arrived, Lestat slipped away into the night.
A sense of relief washed over Louis as he sat by the fire.
Of course he had sensed Lestat watching him from the window and braced himself for the moment he entered. He braced himself for that voice, a voice that he longed to hear at all hours and not to hear at all for it exasperated him. He braced himself for the beautiful sight of the blonde hair and grey eyes that seemed blue, a sight that haunted both his sweetest dreams and darkest nightmares.
He braced himself for his angel, and his demon.
But he never entered. He disappeared almost as quickly as he had arrived and though the sense of relief was his initial reaction - he wasn't sure if he could deal with Lestat now - there was also a deep sense of disappointment. He wanted to be in his lovers arms, to drown out the sorrow that he felt and the sorrow he knew Lestat felt too. He caressed the soft fabric in his hands and remembered a time so long ago but still deeply felt. He longed for those years again. But they would never come back. She would never come back. He did not scream. He did not howl. He did not sob. He sat in silence and let the tears fall.
He wished that Lestat was still on the balcony. That he hadn't slipped back into the night. That he had instead slipped into the room and into Louis' arms.
Lestat returned to the window clutching something he had not held in years. Decades. It felt fragile in his hands.
It had been a few hours since he had left and the dawn was approaching. The sky was a shade of pale blue and he knew the first pink hues of the sunrise wouldn't be long in coming. He looked through the window and saw that Louis had not moved. He continued to sit in the plush armchair staring into a long dead fire.
He gently extended his hand and placed it on the handle of the French door. Relieved to find it unlocked, he opened it just wide enough to slip through with the precious object he held.
The ashes were all that remained. Of her. Of the fire he sat in front of. All of the world was ash.
He had unlocked the French door about an hour previously before returning to his chair. Somehow he knew Lestat would be back. He heard the door open but didn't react. He heard the light footsteps approach him and when they stopped just in front of him, he finally looked up into the eyes of his angel. Into the eyes of his demon. The eyes of his beloved Lestat.
His gaze fell to what Lestat held and another tear rolled down his cheek. He hadn't known that there were any of them left. And yet Lestat held one. He knew the dawn was close so when Lestat held out one hand to Louis, he took it.
The feel of Louis' hand in his always made Lestat delirious with happiness. But there was a deep sadness that both of them felt lacing the moment and also the awareness that the sun would soon shine through the French doors. The sky was turning pink. With a gentle force Lestat pulled Louis from his chair, making sure that Louis did not drop the precious fabric he held. He led him to the other side of the room where Louis' coffin sat. The coffin was big enough for two - a reminder of when they had Claudia - and Lestat released Louis' hand long enough to open to the lid.
When the sunbeams shone through into the bedroom, they hit the armchair by the fire first. As the sun rose higher, the light illuminated the room but never quite touched the coffin in the corner.
In the coffin, Lestat and Louis slept peacefully. As they had climbed in, Lestat had wiped the tears from Louis' cheeks and kissed them both. With a small smile, Louis had drifted into his sleep first. Lestat had watched him for some moments before cuddling closer to his angel and letting the sleep take him into whatever dreams awaited.
Their hands were entwined, holding onto each other as if only they could make the other feel alive. And in many ways that was true.
Between them lay the fabric Louis had held and the object Lestat had left to retrieve. They would never again hold her, never again feel her crawl into their coffins, and so they clung to what they had.
Remnants of their daughter, their darling Claudia, loved and lost - a dress and a doll.