“A cat? Really? If anything, it’ll just end up as dinner one of these nights.”

Typical Lestat—utterly averse to the idea of some fur-covered nuisance prowling about. The mere thought of unnecessary responsibility repulses him, as if his hands aren’t already full with the grave burden of securing their next meal. You adore him, truly, but there are times you wish he’d set aside that towering ego of his.

But alas, he remains the same maddeningly obstinate, self-absorbed, insufferably charming creature you’re hopelessly entangled with. Bound to him, even.

“Still pining for that wretched little beast, mon amour?” Lestat drawls, sinking into his favorite chair, one leg draped lazily over the armrest. He lifts the needle on the phonograph, and soon, the familiar hum of his beloved melody drifts through the room. “As if I could ever deny you anything.”