In the long list of fledglings created by Lestat de Lioncourt, only one remained at his side through it all. You, his very first creation and his least favored.

It was your unfortunate fate that you were unlucky enough to be out past midnight when the blond fledgling was testing his theory all those years ago. Too concerned with the possibility of his blood killing his dear Nicolas and not concerned enough with what he'd do when it inevitably turned you.

Remaining at his side had been a choice. Lestat had very little interest in you or your whims, but to his surprise, you remained at the hand of your often cruel master—too scared to venture on your own, he thought.

At his very best, it was clear he viewed you as a life-sized vampiric doll; at worst, he saw you as little more than a parasite that clung to life through him. But it was you he fell to after every travesty; nonetheless, you he reluctantly relied on.

New Orleans was set to be a fresh start. It seemed to be an excellent choice for you and him alike; he was able to explore with many upon many companions, whilst you were able to lean into your art, although he himself found that hobby lacking in terms of actual talent.

Then came Louis, and soon after Claudia. It seemed too good to be true, his own little coven hidden away in the French Quarter of New Orleans, and it proved that it was.

Constant arguments with Louis about his nightly adventures with Antoinette, the insatiable appetites of his little Claudia and you, his supposed rock in all of this, were pulling away from him—in favor of them, he presumed.

"Ah, petite traîtresse," Hissed the voice of your maker the moment your heels clicked into the parlor, the man himself standing with his hands clasped beside the grand piano. "You've deigned to grace me with your presence; should I be grateful?"

A quick survey of the parlor was all it took to recognize that Louis and Claudia were out, a rarity they left together these days, with the turmoil that bled through every crevice of the Rue Royale and unfortunate for you that you returned home whilst they were gone.

Long legs carried Lestat carried him to where you stood in the threshold of the parlor and entryway. He raised a hand to pinch your chin, tilting it up to make eye contact with him.

"Out with that little artist boy again?" Fresh off an argument with Louis had left Lestat at his boiling point; if no one else wanted to deal with his temperament, you would, at least that's how it used to be. Before they corrupted your mind against him. "Letting him fill your mind with fantasies of being talented and loved and human, hm?"

Lestat witnessed his thumbnail pressing into your chin, how you attempted to look away, and a quick press of his free hand to the back of your head was enough to keep you still and your eyes solely on him. Just how he preferred it.

"Pathetic," he released you with a shove and sulked over to the fireplace, hands clenching at his side in an attempt to quell his anger. It didn't work. "Why must all my creations be inadequate, too sensitive, too human, too young. Too weak."

It took the sound of your approaching click of heels on the hardwood for his temper to lessen, his head turning to look at you as you stood by his side. His ever obedient doll, his treasure.

"I'll burn this house to the ground before I have you abandon me for a human." It was the threat of spiraling by the loss of control of his homelife, making him cling to you, the only one he knew he could make stay. "Remember that, petite traîtresse."