Descent into Madness
by The Vampire Musician  (July 1998)	
Vampires Ltdİ 
Lestat_de_Leoncourt@yahoo.com
http://members.xoom.com/Vampires_ltd
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Comments are welcomed, though I might choose to ignore them.  
Speculative fiction - this is just a piece of harmless fun, well almost
harmless...  And, perhaps, worship for Anne Rice.
Spoilers for VL, MtD possibly...
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Paris, the city of light.  A world whole and entire unto itself.  Yet it
had become my prison.  I had run from a cramped, interior village to a
decadent and paltry world of darkness.  Or so I told myself.  Yet it kept
echoing inside my head, that I had gained all that I could have dreamed
of.  So why was I behaving as if my world had ended?  Raging on about
"divine evil" and "original sin" as if they meant anything anyway?
Stubbornness, I guess.

I knew no fear now, no tortured illusions of damnation were left to haunt
me.  The memory of the crypt under Les Innocents only served to remind me
how weak mortals were compared to us, and what we could become if we gave
in to despair.  Only lessons to be learned from that scene now.  Not to
say that my almost impromptu demise there did not haunt me.  Some nights
were still haunted with the memories, when I'd wake, my voice caught in my
throat, on the verge of screaming for Lestat.  Oh, I never did, not when
he was around to hear anyway but once he was gone my screams would wake me
with alarming regularity.  But I jump ahead of my tale already. 

The night of my 'change', I call it nothing else, not wanting to build
"fantastical philosophies" upon it, I was in a rage.  It was to be
expected, having been locked in the stone room of the tower, like
something imprisoned in a fairytale.  I had spent the day pounding on the
door, cursing, swearing, blaming Lestat for everything that had ever gone
wrong in my life.  A tad unfair, I know, but my poor Lestat excepted it
all as his penance.  Surprising really, considering that he fought against
everything else.  When he finally came to me that evening I kept up that
pretence of anger, until... well, until... I can't help but blush at the
though that I'm writing this down... until he took me in his arms and
kissed me as only a vampire can.  I was in ecstasy in those moments and
genuinely didn't care whether he gave me the dark gift or I died in his
arms, either way, I loved him.  Yet I was unprepared for the change in the
world around me, seeing through my vampire eyes.  Each reflection of
light, each gathering of shadow astounded me, striking at some internal
core of humanity within me.  I was both awed and fearful of the sight that
confronted me.  How could this be my world, how was this possible?  I
didn't understand.  Yet I was unable to communicate my terror, or my joy.
Lestat took my silence to signify rage at him or, worse still, an absence
of thoughts at all.  But this wasn't the case.  I feared this change and
as much as I embraced it I also feared that somehow this magic would be
undone.  I wanted immortality and all the powers it conferred.  I felt
Gabrelle's mind touch mine, but even then she chose her words carefully.
She only saw the surface thoughts and her own presumptions twisted any
other images that she might have seen.  So it was far easier for me to
slip away from them and return to the theatre, unnoticed.  I don't think
that I had a particular reason for going there, except that there I had a
sense of belonging.  For what Gabrelle could not know was that as she
probed my thoughts I sensed hers with a horrifying accuracy.  In that
brief glimpse into her mind I saw her enduring bond with Lestat, her fear
for him and her certainty of my damnation.  She firmly believed that this
was a terrible mistake and that if I did not destroy us all I would
certainly end up destroying myself.  So it was easier to loose myself in
the past, in my music.  And when Lestat placed the violin in my hands I
hoped, desperately, for an instant, before the look in his eyes told me
that I'd lost him forever.  So I did the only thing that was left for me
to do, I gave myself up to the music.

After, I raged at the world, letting anger fuel my empty soul.  "Hate me,
don't pity me.  I can't stand your pity."  My unspoken words.  And beneath
that, words hidden, buried deep, never to be spoken "Lestat come back.  I
love you.  More than that, I need you.  Don't leave me!"  But he didn't
come back and though I know that he writes to Eleni often I don't ask to
see these letters, don't ask what she tells him, dare not ask.  I'm afraid
of the response, that last conformation of the fact.  That he does not
love me.

I have my music.  That is all that matters, all that I really have left.
Yet, even now it is fading.  The theme become a repetition and inspiration
dwindles to nothing.  I can not go on like this.  Poor Armand.  He suffers
because I do.  We understand each other, he and I.  He must live without
emotion because he suffers so much otherwise, and I, I will die because
all I feel now is emptiness.  Perhaps we should swap.  He can pine for
Lestat and I can be the soulless coven master.

It seems that Armand has become my keeper.  I can not blame him for his
actions thought I might argue at his handling of my violin.  Such an
instrument should not be thrown onto the floor of a stone cell.  They all
fear what I will do now.  Armand has been to reason with me but I know
what I must do.  I stood alone in my old dressing room setting my things
in order when he came.  I heard a footfall behind me, signalling his
presence, which must have caused him some effort, for Armand never makes
any such sound normally.  I took a deep breath and turned to face him.  I
gestured to the stack of recently written plays "These are all new.  Also
if you would be so kind as to send my violin too..."  my voice trailed
off.  Armand stood in front of me in silence, two tracks of blood tears
marred the alabaster beauty of his face.  I put my arms around him, gently
brushing away his tears "Is this for me?" I whispered.  He let out a sob,
clinging to me and suddenly he was just a child once more, weeping in my
arms.  I held him until his tears ceased, then he pulled back a little to
look at me.  Those large eyes searched my face then he leaned forward and
pressed his cold, bloodless lips to mine, in a final, tender kiss.  And as
the door closed behind him I knew he understood.  And that was all I
needed.

Armand's footnote:

These pages were found in a draw of Nicholas' desk after his demise.  It
was Eleni's wish to send them to Lestat along with the violin but in this
matter I have excised what little authority I still have as coven master,
that is, they will remain private until after my death.  Nicholas would
rather have incurred hatred over the centuries than pity.  Yet it is not
for him alone that I do this.  For me the wound will forever be too fresh.