The Picture
By Adriann Tusitala, 1998

Disclaimer: This spec is written to honor the character's created by Anne Rice, and not to infringe upon rights in anyway.

Spoiler: All books up through Memnoch (I guess.)

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He quietly hummed to himself as he turned the book to a clean white page that lay before him in the full glory that only purity can possess.

Stolen from life
At a child's young age
No chain made by man
Can withstand his rage

He carefully selected one of the long, pain-stakenly sharpened pencils from a case of many.

Just one in a hundred
Have suffured this pain
Just one in a thousand
Have lived life in vain

Still humming, he took an image in his mind from the crypt where all his memories lay buried in a swirl of chaos.

So young and youthful
Burning through life like a star
Impossible, it almost seemed
That yet he drew a far

The pencil point brushed against the parchment, creating a single stroke against the perfect white.

Never getting older
Save in eyes too distant
Stay forever young
Let that be his grant

The single picture from the depths of his mind slowly formed on the page, slowly bringing a new style of perfection to the once simple whiteness.

Lost in night's soft darkness
With no one left to call
Who just can he turn to
When no one's left at all

He smiled and sat back, looking at the picture he had drawn by firelight and memory. It was perfect innocence captured on paper. His grandsire would be proud. He fingered the locket around his neck, and his smile softened.

What once had been gold
Is now turned into gray
The life that he had
Has faded away

His smile suddenly turned to a look of confusion as the telephone rang. He picked up the book and walked over to the reciever...

"Daniel," the voice on the other was wracked with emotion. "This is Marius."

"Marius?" He blinked. As far as he remembered, Marius had never, ever used the telephone.

"I've got bad news," Marius chocked up in the middle of his sentence. "It's about Amadeo..."

"What's wrong with Armand?" Daniel tensed in fright.

"It's... he's... he's dead, Daniel." Marius sobbed. "I was just told by David."

"Oh." A dead calm fell over Daniel's face, the shock setting in as he dropped the reciever back onto the hook. He glanced down at the picture in his hand, and a short wave of pure anger washed over him. How could Armand have just abandoned him?

In his temper, he threw the page into the fireplace, where the red-gold flames were quick to lick the edges and find the taste of parchment enjoyable. And just before they could start the unstoppable devouring of the sheet, Daniel ripped it out of the fire's grasp and wiped the tiny wisps of pyre out of existence.

"How could you," he mumbled, clutching it close to his heart in rememberance of his maker. "So. Who's alone now, padrone?" The chain of the locket broke in his hand. He snapped it open, and for the longest time, he would not move. Nothing would be the same...

The End