Belle Vie

Eternal Rose

Those freshly cut roses from the auvergne ensnared Lestat's very senses, as he utilised all his strength and clung to the woman, terrified she may disappear were he to free her from his arms. The world did not matter. Grief had faded to naught.

In the moments Lestat held her, Celeste felt the closest thing to human since first becoming immortal. Forgetting, momentarily, her own strength as she returned the gesture. Lestat winced, too quietly for a human to hear; the woman immediately pulling away from him; her mind echoed the words of sorrow that fought to escape her lips. Lestat heard, however, shaking his head in dismissal as crimson tears traversed his icy flesh.

"Is this real? Are you truly here?" The immortelle sobbed, caressing her cheek in disbelief. Celeste's brows furrowed, "Of course I am here," an uncertain smile befell her, the desperation evident in Lestat's eyes as his free-hand wove through her caramel curls. For the first time in a century, Lestat fumbled over his words, "H-How? Charles said you were dead," his voice was panicked, momentary dread allowing Celeste's stomach to plummet, rather humanly.

"Lestat," she paused, her own blood-tear threatening to fall, "I wrote you a letter, shortly after becoming like you." Celeste prayed the recollection of such a notion would cross the blonde immortal's eyes. And yet, it did not. The man finally allowed his gaze to leave her, averting onto Claudia, whom still stood clinging to her throat; clueless as to his insinuation.

Lestat's violet eyes flitted onto those evergreens of his fledgling. Disconnected. Worlds away. His mouth parted in momentary shock. His maker's eyes narrowed onto him, "Louis." Lestat spoke his name with warning, daring him to confess. Celeste's sapphires fell onto the brunette, a painful, blood-tear cascading her alabastor cheek. Something broke very silently in Louis' heart at the thought.

Unable to convey the words his heart yearned to confess, Louis opened his mind to Celeste.

Celeste, inadvertently, opened her own mind to Lestat...

Louis sat, in the Royal Box at the Theatre D'Orleans, with Lestat at his side; evidently preoccupied with the missing woman that had graced the stage as the female lead in Shakespeare's plays for the past five years. Surely, the role of Beatrice should have belonged to Celeste. And yet, she did not appear on stage as much as a supporting role.

Something was wrong, the voice in Louis' mind often reminded him.

To Louis' astonishment, Lestat did not wait for the curtain to fall. Instead, leaving their box before the last scene had even commenced. Louis followed in tow, as he often did; the couple finding their way backstage. Searching for Celeste, Lestat settled on the only other option readily available; the stage manager, Charles.

Louis recalled the theatre group's fondness of him, many familiar faces from years prior flocking to the blonde immortal as he made a beeline for Charles, whose eyes and thoughts lit up at the sight of him, "Ah, My Lioncourt. You are looking well, how have you been faring?" He mused.

Lestat's impatience did not go unnoticed by his fledgling, his grasp tightening slightly over his cane, "Where is Celeste?"

Louis watched as the faces of his maker's surrounding peers turned saddened and remorseful. Whatever words Charles spoke next were drowned out as the brunette vampire delved into the mind of the surrounding mortals.

He had expected to see her. Perhaps, sicklier, than he had previous seen her, a few months before. If his calculations were correct, Celeste had several months before the inevitable. Her journey to New Orleans would not only be to perform and visit her beloved, but to also tell Lestat the truth. The ancitipation of her turning both causing Louis much dread and excitement coequally; to have her in his life, forever...