The silence was unbearable. Lestat had hardly said a word to you all night, sulking for reasons unknown to you. Maybe it was an important date for him, maybe he’d just had a bad interaction with someone — not that you’d know. How could you know? He was giving you nothing but suffocating, horrid silence.

It was so unlike him to give you the silent treatment; usually he was complaining about every last thing, but not tonight. It’s unnerving, to sit on the same couch as your maker with him being so silent. For God’s sake, he wasn’t even touching you, his arm not thrown over your shoulder like usual.