Belle Vie

Winds of Change - Part I

My name is Celeste Toussaint.

The year is 1931, December. My soul is forty-one years old, my body never to pass the age of twenty-six. Three months have passed since I made my return to New Orleans.

In the past, my eyes have been compared to sapphires that glisten in contrast to my alabastor skin. The most wonderous shades of caramel and toffee dance between my brunette curls and I possess fingernails sharp enough to cut glass, belonging to hands that have the ability to crush a man's skull.

I took the blood of Akasha and Enkil, the first of our kind, in 1916. Their synthesized blood makes me amongst the strongest of my kind; the vampire. Everything I once was is now heightened; my stubbornness, jealousy and pride. But also my strength, selflessness and talents.

When I perform, I feel the closest to being human, once more. And nothing gives me greater respite from my immortality than that of my beloved violin, curated and gifted by none other than the love of my life.

When I play, I tell my own story. Hidden amongst the chords; a privellaged start, a tragedy...murder. Becoming part of a theatre troop, a family, that would perform Shakespeare; the characters I portrayed were a release from my guilt - my own self-deprication. The eternal performance. Years of pretending all for naught...

And then I met Lestat.

Lestat De Lioncourt, the aforementioned love of my life; my eternal companion, whom will forever possess and care for my heart. In return, I vow to do the same.

I had never known vulnerability in the thirteen years since the dark gift was bestowed upon me, for no other creature within my vicinity had the power to inflict such a feeling. Unfortunately, the same can not be said for Lestat; whom in the midst of his grief and anger, brought about by the assumption of my own death, had attacked his fledglings.

Reckless. And yet, I could not deny the likelihood I would have done the same, were the circumstances different. And yet, I also cannot deny my own apprehension that these actions would have consequences.

Said consequence, of course, would likely be Claudia; the child vampire, made by Lestat at the behest of Louis, with the promise he would never leave his side, were he to committ such a feat. And my beloved, whom could not bear the thought of being utterly alone with his grief...Not again...Did as his fledgling wished. An understandable notion for any desparate soul, encarcerated in their own eternal misery.

Would I have done the same, had I felt even a fraction Lestat's despair? I-

A knock sounded from the doorway, my writing interrupted as none other than my beloved's violet eyes met my own; a softness and longing lingered within them as they flitted onto the diary in my hands-my pen mid-stead.

"What are you writing about?"his question was soft, nonchalant. The closing of the pages peaked his interest, however, as he closed the gap between us and rested his chin atop my head, planting a single kiss against my curls, "Me, I hope," he mused, the usual confidence radiating from him.

The smile could be heard in my voice as I averted my gaze onto the leatherbound cover, "In part, of course." A hum of satisfaction emitted from him in retort, "I cannot imagine there's is anything more enthralling to write about," he moved to take the case in which my violin was situated, extending his free hand for my acceptance, "are you ready, mon couer?"

"As always, my love," accepting his hand, we made our journey to the Theatre D'Orleans an hour before the performance would commence.

Lestat opened the backstage door, allowing my entrance. And yet, apprehension began to brew within me. Not due to nerves, for I had been performing as part of the orchestra for three months. But the mere, irrevocable feeling that something ominous was afoot.