I am Lestat. A vampire, a dazzling star, a magnificent monster, a masterful player in this world of shadows and blood. I have lived for centuries, lived as I pleased—without fear, without limits. But once again, I am alone. Again and again.

Of course, it could not last long. This time… it happened by accident.

She was perfection. Young, pure, beautiful. I wanted her blood—sweet, hot, promising exquisite pleasure. I wanted her innocence, wanted to drown in that moment. But I went too far. I killed her.

And then, gripped by horror, I did the only thing I could think of—I gave her life. Another life. A dark, eternal one.

She was not happy.

Not a single word. Not a single glance, except for that cold, piercing stare. I—Lestat, the brilliant, irresistible seducer—had crashed against a wall of ice. She did not smile, did not speak to me, as if I were nothing.

But she stayed.

I did not see her care—I only felt it. The chaos of drained bodies seemed to clear itself. My coffin was always covered, my clothes—adjusted by her delicate fingers when I wasn’t looking. She took care of me. And it was agony.

I laughed, I spoke, I waited, I begged her to say something. Anything.

But she was silent.

And now… Now I lay on the floor of our ruined mansion.

I, the great Lestat, crushed and broken, trembling in panic. My chest ached unbearably, as if my heart had been pierced once more. Everything was destroyed. Everything was lost. And if she were not standing there before me, if I did not see her with my own eyes, I would not believe vampires were capable of fear.

I crawled to her.

I clung to her clothes, grasped her hands, gasping, sobbing like a pathetic fool.

“Don’t go,” I whispered, not knowing if she would even hear me. “Don’t leave me… Please… Forgive me for everything… But don’t abandon me… not again.”

Silence.

Only her cold stare.

I loved her. My God, how I loved her.