The victim's outfit was splattered with mud but her face remained flawless. I pulled the key to the door out of my pocket and brought her into the ballroom.

Armand was there awaiting me and the damsel. He quickly took the girl from me and took her to the stage.

I myself left and went to find Louis and Claudia. I used my acute senses to find Louis and Claudia. I found them, finding Louis's hand lightly pressed on Claudia's hand. Jealousy bubbled in me as I sat in Louis's lap.

He didn't look at me, but only continued to watch as the play went on.

Claudia softly laughed at the girl, Armand's prey that I had brought for him.

I felt anger and hate in Louis's veins. I gripped his wrist, hard, forcing him to look at me. "Her fate is to die," I insisted.

Louis gave me an angry glare. Movement on the stage caught his attention, and he turned away from me.

I looked too. It was practically the same show I had seen the first time I had been there. "Santiago, you can't hurt Louis," I mind spoke to him.

"Why not," he asked.

"Because I love him," I told him.

"And you don't love me," he bean to get angry, "You love him more than me?!" It was amazing how well he could do both the show and speak to me at the same time. He was angry, frustrated even. He also portrayed his frustration on the stage.

I watched him, and to my surprise I found him infatuated with her, holding her gaze. In jealousy, I broke it, calling her attention to me. As he all but kissed her face my jealousy raged.

"Do you know what it means to have Death know your name," he asked.

She looked at him, overcome with fear. And then her eyes seemed to mist over, her lips to go slack. She was staring past him at the figure of another vampire who had emerged slowly from the shadows. For along time he had stood on the periphery of the gathering, his hands clasped, his large, dark eyes very still. His attitude was not the attitude of hunger. He did not appear rapt. But she was looking into his eyes now and her pain bathed her in a beauteous light, a light which made her irresistibly alluring. It was this that held the jaded audience, this terrible pain.

The women she was, the woman I would never be, began to haunt me. At the same time I knew she had no chance. And looking up again, I saw her shimmering in the smoky light of the foot lamps, saw her tears like gold, as softly from Armand who I could see clearly now, come the words, "No pain."

He had been the still one in the background.

Santiago stiffened, but only I seemed to notice it.

They only saw the girl's smooth, childlike face, those parted lips, slack with innocent wonder as she gazed at Armand.

"No pain," she repeated.

"Your beauty is a gift to us," Armand's rich voice effortlessly filled the house, seeming to calm the audience. That is one of the many things that I love and admire about him. And lightly, almost imperceptibly, his hand moved.

Santiago was receding, becoming one of those patient white faces whose hunger and equality were one.

And slowly, gracefully the others, including Estelle and Celeste, moved towards her.

She was languid, her nakedness forgotten, those lids fluttering, a sigh escaping her moist lips. "No pain," she assented.

I couldn't bear it, the sight of her yielding towards him. I was angry at her for doing so. I wanted to take her, to kill her.

Armand moved in on her, his hand out now for the draw string of her skirt as she inclined towards him, her head back, the black cloth slipping over her hips, over the golden gleam of the hair between her legs- a child's down that delicate girl- the skirt dropping to her feet. Armand opened his arms, his back to the flickering footlights, his auburn hair seeming to tremble as the gold of her hair fell around his black coat. "No pain," Armand whispering to her, as she was giving herself over. He slowly turned her to the side so I could see her serene face, he lifted her, her back arching as her naked breasts touched his buttons, and her pale arms enfolded his neck.

My jealousy continued to bubble.

She stiffened, cried out as he sank his teeth, and her face was still as the dark theatre reverberated with shared passion. His white hand shone on her florid buttocks, her hair dusting it, stroking it.

It was then I knew that she still loved him.

Armand's victim was so well seduced, so well hypnotized that she loved him, even as he drank, her throat gleaming against his white cheek.

Jealousy now burned in me. I noticed Louis grip the brass bar of the box, I put my hand upon his, trying to sooth him, not knowing what was wrong. Of curse not that I've read his book, my inspiration for telling my own, I know.

He bowed his head, looking at me.

I reached up and placed my fingers gently on his eyelids. The air seemed fragrant with Louis's cologne.

He was sweating blood.

I hugged him tightly. I bit my tongue and kissed him, feeding him. I went and sat in my own seat, embarrassed. "A child, kissing an older man with tongue," I mused, "It's not right." Blood tears ran down my face as I cried for the simple fact that I'd never be able to kiss him passionately.