___jessie_____ (___jessie_____) wrote in the_bloodofman,

Chapter 5

In Lestat's Arms.

He let me see through his blood and into his memories, he let me know - and still it is not enough, not by half. Questions form in my mind faster than I can comprehend what they are or form even the simplest of sentences from them. They flow through like spider webs, forming intricate designs, and thoughts - just waiting to catch the next bit of information.

I stay seated on his lap, my head lying on his shoulder. It is not a sexual thing, but a form of comfort. Someone to hold when everything around you is so overwhelming you fear you may fall. I do not know, however, if it is I holding him or him holding me. Either way, we shall not fall this night.

I close my eyes and listen to the night around me. The busy whirr of life hums in my ears, threatening to deafen me. People, humans, cry out in pain and anguish. They laugh and cry with joy, and through it all, I am but a witness to it all.

I try hard to process what my mind has seen through Lestat's blood. To show me like that though ... Why? Was there something in that vision of blood that I have missed? Some seemingly mundane fact or look that I have skipped over in my ignorance?

"You fed with him that night, didn't you," I say, lifting my head and laying a small kiss on Lestat's lips. "You fed and watched him feed off the humans in that place. You talked and whiled away the hours until it was time for you to retreat."
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