My sweet monsieur Lestat takes his time about making me a vampire.
Oh, I know why he hesitates; I cannot blame him.
You see, every night, in a passion, he begs, pleads, demands, “come, only fly to my arms and you shall be Born to Darkness.”
And it takes all my willpower to resist.
But why resist, if it is what I desire? I do not want to hurt him, do not want to burden him with me more than I already have. What a disruption a fledgling would be to his merry life! To have to teach me to hunt, and to blend in with humans, and all the sundry tricks of the vampires that he knows so well.
I would frustrate him with my dependence. Though, despite my stubborn nature, I wonder if he realizes, once he takes me from my mortal life, how happy I would be to do anything he suggests! How willing to learn, and to try.
But I am terrified to leave the walls of the Talamasca, the only home I have ever known. Inside the walls of the motherhouse, the ancient organization of occul researchers and historians, I have lived here all my life, and know nothing of the ways of the world outside it.
Yet every night it becomes more and more unbearable, as my superiors try to bend me to their will. This I am used to. The pain now is caused by their attempts to cease my communication with the fair Lestat. Every time we contact one another it becomes more difficult. If things continue as they are, I fear that soon I will not be able to reach him at all.
They try to turn my gift of telepathy away from contact with him, and when that fails, they prevent me from using it entirely! I took a chance last night, to hear his voice in my mind, and now the reigns are tighter than ever! You would think that an organization such as the Talamasca would afford more courtesy and lenience for their pet sensitives.
A week ago he came, at great personal risk, knowing how the Talamasca feel about vampires, to the motherhouse in London. To see me. To see me! Oh, the evenings we spent, glorious, but all too few. If I had thought speaking with him over the telepathic bond we share was a joy, it was nothing to that of being truly together.
I remember best the way he moved, and the way he laughed. God to see him laugh, you don’t understand. I remember his face in the soft candlelight, the way he held a warm cup in his hands, the particular gestures when he speaks. That evening in particular, in the privacy of a small café, was the best evening I have ever spent in my life. There is nothing about him that is not enchanting.
I wish I could fly into his arms this very moment. I wonder, how would he react if I took him up on his standing invitation?
But that is what I’m truly afraid of.
I’m afraid that the moment I say yes, he will have a change of heart and say no.
Who could blame him?
To dream such a pretty fancy in one thing, to carry it out, quite another.
And as long as he begs me to join him, then everything’s alright.
But the moment he says ‘no’ I am sure I shall succumb to this disease in my heart and never rise again.
But enough of this wish-washery! I’m going to see him in a month anyway! Its been arranged for me to come to his home in New Orleans. He has promised to show me his city, and share all the beautiful places he has described, and to introduce me to the members of his coven.
I am so excited, but also, so afraid. As I said, I have never really left the protection of the motherhouse, unlike some Talamasca who do nothing but fly to various and sundry places in the world. But that’s not my main fear. I know Lestat would let no harm come to me, save his own.
No, what I am really afraid of is that I will fall in love with New Orleans, and Lestat, ever the responsible gentlemen, will send me back all the same.
Vampire or not, Lestat has a streak of honor and duty, often at odd with his nature as a reckless romantic, and a wounded Saint.
Oh, but I can’t wait to see his face again. Just writing these words makes me miss him all the more. Every moment I think of fleeing the motherhouse, escaping the thumb of my superiors in the Talamasca. I know I could convince Lestat to help me.
But what then? After I have escaped and been secreted away and Born to Darkness? I have read the histories, and the books published by Lestat and his coven themselves! I know that it is all too often, when a vampire falls in love with a mortal, it is for their human frailties and failings, and once the human has been turned, the vampire begins to detest their fledgling.
I couldn’t stand it if he were to hate me. I’d rather die without ever seeing him again.
And what of the mind-bond that we share? How we met, both casting about in the vast sea of psychic voices. A vampire and his fledgling’s minds are forever closed to one another. Not that my gift is of much use to us now, with my superiors forbiddance from using it, after catching me last night.
Oh, but I do prattle on. It’s because I miss him so, and I grow ever more tired of the rules of the Talamasca, and the restriction of the motherhouse.
How I long to speak to him, to see his face and be held in his arms. To let him kiss me again.
But I must resist. For his sake, not mine. And know that when I see him again, it will not be forever.