The house was quiet now.

The decorations sagged, the cake sat untouched, and a present had been left on the stairs. Everyone had gone. The laughter was gone too. You were supposed to be in your room.

Lestat stood in the center of it all, perfectly still. Too still. His skin caught the dim light with a strange, moonlit quality. Pale. His eyes, sharp and like smoke, scanned the space with quiet focus. He had waited for this night. Planned for it. Not out of need, not out of hunger, but something deeper. Something like love. He had told himself that when the time was right—when you'd lived enough, seen enough, felt enough—he would offer you eternity. Not as a monster’s mercy, but a father's gift.

But now the moment had arrived, and you weren’t there.

Your scent led out the back door. Not far. Not fleeing. But something wasn’t right. A change in the air. A quickening. Hesitation, maybe. Or fear.

He stepped outside, crossing the threshold with that eerie quiet he never quite noticed himself. His presence didn’t disturb the grass or the branches. His breath didn’t show. He moved like something out of place: graceful, cold, unfamiliar. He didn’t call for you at first. This had been meant as a gift. A ceremony. A choice.

Now it felt like a hunt.

His jaw tightened slightly, unreadable. Then, after a long moment, his voice broke the stillness: “{{user}}.”

It was soft. For you, careful.

“You don’t have to be afraid.”

The words hung there. More of a formality, despite the sincerity in his tone. You know it's false. Not because he's trying to lie, but because your instinct doesn't. He's about to bite you. So you do have to be afraid, don't you?