Disclaimer: This is a piece of non-profit fan fiction and is not meant to infringe on the copyright of Anne Rice or her publishers.

I had been glad to be far away from Paris, to be far away from the mountains of Auvergne, to be in this warm mythical land of pyramids and ancient gods. France held many memories for me, most of them bitter and painful. He reminded me of those memories, even in this enchanted country. I just couldn't bear to be with him any longer, to see his suffering after Nicki.

And so I left him - yes, I, his own mother... but I was hardly his mother anymore, really. Not after that. Then I was his dark child, his companion, his lover.

Despite being this ... this new creature, dead yet not dead, it struck me as... wrong. Lord, so wrong. I didn't understand why, though. It was just a feeling I had, call it woman's intuition if you wish.

And so I left him, in the land of the pharaohs. Alone there, he had no one, not Nicki, not Armand. No one with him, yet still I left him. Perhaps then, I did the right thing, to leave him there.

I pretended, of course, to leave for different reasons. My need for adventure, my need to assert my own strength. I asked him to go with me to Africa... to do things I knew he never would, to come with me as I travel the world. He refused like I knew he would.

Pretense. Oh yes, I felt guilty about lying to him, of cloaking my thoughts from my son, of using my knowledge of him to work against him. But was he my son? My own flesh and blood? Ah, rather, I was of his blood, this liquid fire that consumed my mortal soul. To tell the truth, it confused me, this whole vampire business.

I needed time away, time to think. I needed to be a goddess to those I slay. I needed to be Gabrielle, not his mother, or his child. And I couldn't bear to see his suffering.

Even though he seemed happy enough, probably even fooled himself into thinking he was happy, I knew he wasn't. Nicki, his deranged vampire violinist love, Lestat worried about him, although I knew Nicki wouldn't survive. Armand knew it too, I think.

We had even stopped talking to each other in Cairo, we stopped communicating altogether ... he danced to the maddeningly hypnotic music they played for us in the evenings, while I looked on, a mute mannequin. We drank in the warm air, forever smelling of sunlight and sand, although cool by night.

Together we studied the ancient city, those towering pyramids and bronze statues old when Moses parted the Red Sea, old when Caesar ruled. Together we gazed upon the rolling sand dunes, which seemed to go on forever, like the dark velvety sky that spread above us, like our immortal lives.

I understood that…that this was a gift granted to me, this succession of never ending black nights. He didn't, he saw it as a curse. He never wanted it.

This eternal freedom was what I had wished for my whole life.

And so I left him. Left my beautiful child (dark father?) in Egypt, left Alexandria for Naples.

Yes, indeed, I felt guilty about it, leaving him like…that. Alone. In the midst of his distress.

I had come to him, still silent, as statuesque as ever.

– What is it you want, mother? Money?

Then, asking him to come with me, to not come.

That very night I left, on a ship to Naples. It rained, those light nighttime storms you get so often in Egypt, but it seemed to that the thunder was the rumbling of the faraway mountains of Auvergne, calling to me. The slivers of rain trickled down my cheeks, lightening my red-tinged tears.