Belle Vie

Forgotten Love

Love followed Lestat, adoration in the thoughts of his peers. Women wanted him. Men wanted to be him. Men wanted him. As was often the case, Celeste severed her psychic abilities, allowing respite from her own jealousy.

The vampire Lestat did not. Instead, he revelled in the attention; those thoughts all-consuming of himself and the beauty of the woman by his side. The fact that she loved him in his entirety only fuelled his ego. She was his, entirely off limits to those envious eyes that watched them traverse to their private box.

Lestat allowed Celeste the seat closest to the stage, his gloved hand brushing against her own as they waited in anticipation for the lights to dim and the opera to commence.

'This was the very seat I watched you from, your first performance,' Lestat mused, projecting his thoughts into her mind. Celeste emitted a light laugh at the memory, 'Beckoning me to look at you. I could see your eyes over the footlights.'

Her recollection allowed a smile from the immortal at her side, 'Imagine how different our lives would have been, had you not came to New Orleans.' Lestat's tone turned suddenly solemn at the notion.

Celeste tightened her grasp firmly over his hand with reassurance, turning to meet his eyes as the lights in the theatre began to dim, "Awfully dull, I can imagine."

Lestat's smile returned, his reverance for the woman at his side unparrallelled as music commenced and the opening muse walked onto the stage.

Whilst Lestat fixated on the opera, itself, Celeste was unable to relieve her sights from the orchestra; dissecting the symphony beneath the voices, her skill would outweigh that of the Concertmistress by a continent. Delving into her thoughts, the vampire rose from his seat, distracting from the performance, momentarily. 'Where are you going?' Celeste pressed, her gaze not leaving the stage.

Lestat's reassurance of his return satisfied enough, for he was gone mere minutes before returning to her side. He was planning something, she deduced, but did not press as the concert resumed.

Three hours passed of pure bliss, the couple becoming lost amongst the mortals as they watched with unrelenting fascination. At the performance's climax, the symphony became so enrapturing that it brought the entire audience to their feet.

An usher handed a rose to Celeste and Lestat, which they threw onto the stage at the performers' feet, "Bravo!" The beauty cheered, sapphires glistening - alive. The most human Lestat had seen her, he realised, an irrevocable grin befalling him at the notion of causing such happinness.

"Come with me, my love," Lestat beckoned, which Celeste did not refute as they left their box and made way backstage. As her eyes set upon the occupied dresser which once belonged to her, they faltered briefly. Mortal memories. A twenty year old brunette asking her friend for lip paint, as to avoid the pining vampire.

"Celeste, this is Roberto; the maestro," the blonde immortal introduced, oblivious to her momentary distraction. His arm enveloped the shoulder of a middle-aged man, the two seeming to have an already established relationship as a smile emitted from his wrinkled lips. The brown in his eyes displayed kindness, the black in his hairline thinning with age.

"A pleasure to make your acquaintance, the orchestra was sublime," Celeste nodded respectfully, watching as the man drew a cigarette to his lips, "Mr Lioncourt tells me you have a penchent for the arts; in particular, the violin. Our first chair is looking to retire soon, you should consider coming by the theatre; show us your talent."

Celeste saw the truth in his eyes, doubtful of his proposition for a moment. The man extended a hand, which she accepted, "That would be wonderful, thank you."