Lestat de Lioncourt (i_liveforever) wrote in we_coexist, @ 2011-04-15 11:07:00 |
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Entry tags: | fools wishes, lestat de lioncourt |
wish granted (narrative)
The instructions were so simple.
The paper should be folded thus, and thus... and it would create a shape. Once that shape took form, he was to make a wish. His heart, the directions said, would make it for him.
That was no longer a wish to be human. He'd been there and done that. Raglan James had ruined it for him, and it had cost David Talbot his life. Lestat was aware, very aware, of the thorns this process had. And that he would likely bleed. His heart's greatest desire? Depending on the moment or the day, that could be anything. An antique chair could appear. He could end up standing in the foyer of his apartment facing Gabrielle. Lestat did not, himself, know what he wanted.
Ever.
It was a main reason why he was such a pain.
He sat at the small table in his hallway, listening to the clock tick. He folded the paper into what became the flower of a rose. And then he shut his eyes.
He felt wind behind him, movement, footsteps. But they were the kind of footsteps that did not belong to anything as clumsy as a human. He felt a hand on his shoulder, cold, dead. He heard the mouth begin to open, to speak or draw blood.
And he smashed the rose. Picked it up and tore it.
It all stopped.
With a sweep of his arm, Lestat knocked the contents off of the table and onto the floor, then stood up and flipped over the stool he had been sitting on.
He would not allow the City that insight and entertainment. He could not abide it.
And now he knew the answer, anyway. He would not allow it to go wrong, for his house to burn down again, to be maimed again and thrown into a swamp again, to be left in favor of the whole world, to be abandoned again.
He knew what it was he was looking for.
Lestat did not want to be alone. He never had. He never would.
He'd have to do something about this.