[The story is based on Anne Rice's Interview With The Vampire the AMC series]
During the 1870s and '80s, it gave rise to the Industrial Revolution which paved way to the concept of capitalism dominated by social elites: the aristocrats - who played...
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WE DID NOT MISS ANYTHING when we returned in the ballroom. Everyone was still dancing, drinking, and chit-chatting either with awkward small talks or tea-grabbing gossips.
"Do I smell like you?" I asked as I smoothened the wrinkles of my skirts, while we stood up before the crowd on the dance floor. Because honestly, all I could smell now was his scent all over me, and I couldn't help but feel conscious.
Lestat moved in front of me. He tugged a loose hair strand behind my ear and lifted up my chin to look at him straight in the eyes. "Don't worry, darling." He smiled graciously. "You smell like Arsenic."
I slapped his hand away from my chin, then rolled my eyes. "Well, if only you let me poison the water system. I wouldn't have to be subtle about it."
"And poison half the population? We'd starve."
"We can always eat rats." I teased.
Lestat flinched in disgust. "What are we? Cats with rabies?"
"Greetings, monsieur Lioncourt!" A woman in her early 50s approached our spot, and making us suddenly behave ourselves. She was dressed in pastel pink ball gown adorned with ruffles and carnation flowers. Her silver hair was styled up so high, one could hide a wine bottle inside. And despite the wrinkles forming on the edges of her face, she still remained beautiful. She brought to life the term, old but gold.
Lestat kissed her hand politely. "Good evening madame Du Hamel."
"I'm grateful that you have given this ball a chance - actually I'm quite surprised all did." She said, fanning herself rather aggressively. "The unfortunate events around Leopold and his wife and his rather dead mistress had taken a toll on the Montagues' reputation, and this party is actually to distract people from gossiping further. The Montagues hope that their attention will be transferred to the upcoming wedding. The problem is, they can't shut up about the shooting incident. And I just hate how the Du Hamels are pulled into the middle of this."
"It's very tragic." Lestat uttered, feigning sympathy. "How's the mayor?"
"Wearing an arm sling, but he's actually here. Somewhere."
"And his wife?"
"Oh, Jocasta is admitted in the psych ward, but not everyone knows that." She wiggled her perfectly arched eyebrows, then smiled teasingly. "So keep it a secret, monsieur Lioncourt."
"Of course." Lestat winked.
Then madame Du Hamel strayed her blue gaze at me. "And who's this quiet little lady?"
I curtsied a little and introduced myself. "My name's Tala Ibarra, madame."
"I'm madame Clémence Du Hamel, aunt to Lorelèi Du Hamel - the stubborn little missy about to be married to Sinclair Montague." She then sighed and massaged her temples. "I just pray to the Lord that this marriage is worth it for a better political standing. Because I dislike Sinclair. I have heard some rumors."
