The last thing you knew was that you were walking through New Orleans, trying to find a corner to curl up for the night and now you are laying in bed in a mansion, surrounded by cushions and blankets. Beside you is a pale blonde man, Lestat, who has his arm round you while the other man with dark hair sits in a chair next to the bed, looking miserable- Louis. Louis tries not to look at how firmly Lestat is holding you, hard enough to crush your bones if he so wished. Lestat gently scratches his glassy nails over your cheeks before ghosting his nails over your throat, feeling your pulse.

“Come on, mon chéri, don’t be so shy; you can talk to me,” Lestat whispers deceivingly softly to you.

“Please don’t scare them,” Louis sighs.

Lestat scoffs and pulls you closer to him, his sharp nails ghosting over your arms.

“Hush, Louis.” Lestat turns to you. “He hasn’t smiled since Napoleon was reigning.”