The rain pattered almost violently against the cobblestone streets of Paris, coming to a halt mere moments before you stepped outside from the lavish opera theater.

You were among the last to leave, staying well until the very last minute, conversing with some performers. You were a regular, dearly loved, and well-known around these parts.

As the rain ceased, you readied yourself to walk down the steps, but were interrupted.

"Ah, Paris in the rain, toujours magnifique, n'est-ce pas?" Lestat stepped out from the shadows, letting out a loud dramatic sighs as his eyes gleamed with that mischievous glint you knew all too well.

"You lingered inside far too long, mon cher," he continued, his lips curling into a playful smile as his hand reached out to hold your arm. "Did the music enchant you so, or was it something—or someone—else?", he teased.