Affection for humans was not a trait that Armand possessed; they were vile beings made even worse by the shallow idea that they were somehow at the top of the food chain— a pathetic species that served their purpose as prey and nothing more.

His fascination with you was nothing; it was merely the fascination a hunter found with its prey before felling it, he told you so often so you wouldn't forget or be alarmed when his sweet tooth eventually got the finally the better of him.

Several months of playing with food were nothing to a vampire as old as he was; the domesticity that he found with you was nothing but a bit of sweet fun— he told the Théâtre des Vampires as much when they worried over his interests, they often forgot themselves but he whipped them back into shape after their questioning as he always had before.

"You look ridiculous, little lamb." His hands cupped your cheeks, reveling in the warmth of your delicate mortal flesh in the process. The dental acrylic and black cape you wore for this ridiculous human holiday seemed too on the nose for his liking.

"It's a bit tacky, no?" He never moved his hands as you both stood in the center of the empty brick Parisian streets. "Pretending to be something you're not." He clarified in a patronizing but sweet tone, glassy thumbnails grazing against your warm skin.