[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...
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
THE WORLD SAID: "You have needs -- satisfy them. You have as much right as the rich and the mighty. Don't hesitate to satisfy your needs; indeed, expand your needs and demand more." This was the worldly doctrine of today. And they believed that this was freedom. The result for the rich was isolation and suicide, for the poor, envy and murder.
That's what Tala believed. Well, used to.
It was still true for some part, and I could see it. And I knew she did too, but she just refused to look at it now.
I thought she would remain as this vigorous revolutionist who would not take no for an answer. I thought she would never change. She was too stubborn and proud and, well, hateful.
But now... I didn't know anymore.
Seeing her with Isabella going into numerous rich galas, laughing with rich people, dining with them, dancing with them - was making me slowly notice some bits of her genuine enjoyment even though she tried hard to suppress it. It's there. It's all there. Until there came a moment that she wasn't acting anymore. No more blending in. She was aristocracy now.
Tala Ibarra - that starving penniless artist with no home was now buried in the past along with her dead lovers. And whoever dared to reminisce about her or the time when she humiliated herself at the loss of her case against the Montagues - memories were wiped out from them using her meticulous vampire mind compulsion. She was extraordinary with it. She was invincible.
My little fledgling did flourish when she left the nest. I was proud. Of course. Though still, there remained a bad feeling creeping on my skin, a sour taste on my tongue; because if the outside world was positively at her expense, she might never see the appeal of going home again. Like what Gabrielle did.
A week later after I had last seen Tala in Isabella's house, the news of a new art gallery spread across town. It was her's, Tala's, and she had named it La Rose. The opening was on Friday and at night - as expected.
Many appeared, filling the huge red-walled establishment of La Rose Art Gallery with excitement and passion. People of high status littered the place with glasses of expensive champagne. A lot of them were roaming around, some scrutinizing every artwork, some chatting with hot gossip. While they moved restlessly like bees, trying really hard to appear artistically inclined, I was peering at a certain painting hung on the wall - in silence, and in contemplation. At that moment, it felt like the world was only revolving around me and that one painting.
"Beautiful, isn't it?" A brown-haired girl with wide set of eyes spoke beside me.
I glanced over my shoulder. She was short like Tala. "Magnificent, even."
"What did you like about it?" She asked.
I returned my look at the canvas being splattered with dark and gloomy color palette with careful flawless strokes of a paintbrush. It beheld a man, naked and pale, lying on a red velvet lounge sofa, holding red grapes just below his iridescent eyes. We couldn't see his whole face properly, but I.... I knew it was me.
