Belle Vie

100 Years of Solitude

Celeste searched the streets of New Orleans for the Vampire Lestat, but he avoided the girl unrelentingly, into the early hours of the morning. By the time dawn was in swift approach, she returned to Lestat's townhouse on Royal street, ringing the doorbell. Only, no-one answered, to her dismay. And so, she walked back to her hotel with blisters on her feet and slept through the day.

During his slumber, Lestat had began to regret his actions towards the girl. She did not know any different, after all. She was as new to the vampire world as he had been when he first became one, himself. So, he ventured to the local florist for the second time that week and purchased a bouquet of flowers to present to the girl.

Unfortunately, Celeste had stirred in the midst of her dreams. Stewing on the events having unfolded, along with the knowledge that Lestat had avoided her the entire night before, made her utterly infuriated. She did not chase after anybody, yet she had spent hours searching for the vampire; her feet bloody and blistered....And when she knocked on his door, knowing that he had to be home, he ignored her.

Lestat truly had underestimated the similarities between himself and the mortal Celeste.

As she sat backstage that evening, the girl managed to contain her thoughts to a bare minimum, distracting them with the lines she had spoken a hundred times before, reciting them in the hopes they would mask her internal anger. She was not entirely sure she would see Lestat again, but the cast prepared for the opening act, regardless. And the disappearance of the bartender, Henri, had came to fruition, at long last.

At precisely five minutes before the curtains would fall, Lestat de Lioncourt graced the backstage with his presence. Celeste continued to stare at her own reflection, seemingly, barely noting the bouquet of white tulips that were placed on her vanity. 'Forgive me.'

"You are hurt," Lestat spoke, concern evident in his pale, blue eyes as they searched the girl from head to toe. Having smelt her blisters the moment he entered the theatre, his gaze lingered on her feet, where the addictive scent of freshly cut roses overwhelmed his very senses.

Oh, how he had imagined her blood would smell, and the very prospect of tasting such a thing could have sent him into a frenzy. Truly he never dreamed it would be so divine. Exquisite. The rarest vino from the juiciest vine. But he could not afford to think of her that way.

"Has anybody seen my lip rouge?" The girl called, ignoring the vampire's concerns, entirely.

Lestat let out a low scoff, "Celeste,-"

"-I have it!" A voice called in the far distance, Celeste rising from her chair and following the source. Evidently vexed, Lestat had no time to ponder the girl's rejection of him, Charles ushering him to change, for his presence would be required on stage within mere minutes.

The play resumed, as it always would. Romeo and Juliet would meet at the masquerade ball. Celeste's acting skills were on par with the night prior, Lestat finding himself momentarily doubtful that her true feelings reflected his own. She was too good. Which frightened him. And her thoughts consisted only of her next lines, therefore he had no way of knowing whether the second kiss they shared had been part of the play or a genuine display of emotion. The moment the two ventured into the wings, Celeste veered into the opposing direction to change into Juliet's wedding gown.

Lestat was dumbfounded, surely it could not have all been an imitation. The conversation they had shared on the roof of the Theatre d'Orleans. Their almost-kiss, that had materialised of the girl's own free will. The vampire knew himself to be, admittedly, impulsive. But he could not have possibly gotten everything so wrong, blinded by his affections towards the girl as to misread her feelings.