A Repetition of the Same Theme
by The Vampire Musician
Vampires Ltd ©
Lestat_de_Leoncourt@Yahoo.com
http//members.xoom.com/Vampires_ltd

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Speculative fiction, that is, harmless, on the legal side of things.
Somewhat introspective this time.
Spoilers for VL, TotBT, MtD and Vampires Ltd's "The Private Life of the
Vampire Lestat"
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David's narrative:

"All that lives grows old and dies, in the normal course of things"
That's what the poet A.M. Michael had said.  I couldn't help wondering if
she had just been engaged in word play or if she knew something of
preternatural existence.  Either way I doubted that there were any answers
to be had.  Which lead back to the same awful questions, all over again.
Did Mael expect answers after death?  And what about Armand, who told
Louis that there was no God, all those years ago?  Did Armand really
believe that some tattered piece of cloth was proof of the existence of
God?  I don't know, now I'll probably never know.  Perhaps we aren't meant
to know.  Is that why I'm going round in circles?  Is that why Lestat has
gone insane? Are we all finally damned?  I'm not sure that I can face it.
I don't know anything anymore.  Even the Talamasca don't have answers like
that!

I must have voiced some such thought because I noticed that someone at
another table along the cafe terrace was looking at me.  What did I care
if some mortal thought I was insane.  I ignored this mortal and stared at
the cold cup of coffee in front of me.

I once told Lestat about my vision of God and the devil sitting and
talking in a Paris cafe.  Perhaps fate has been thwarted.  After all I
haven't done anything with my life now have I.  Should have died of old
age but that never came to pass.  It doesn't help that the others all
still see me as the Talamasca scholar.  It's always "Ask David, he knows
about things like that".  Well, this time I'm just as lost as the rest.  A
fledgling with an insane maker who never really knows much about anything
anyway.  Louis tries to rationalise all of this, Maharet sinks deeper into
ancient mysteries and Marius is still so deeply grieved over Armand's
death that he's ceasing to make sense at all.  And in the end we are all
trapped with the same fear and we're not so different from mortals at all.
Yet the difference is that what they do not know, we will never know.  We
will never grow old, never die and so are separated from all that they
stand to learn.  We will never know and that is the heartbreaking tragedy.  

I heard soft laughter from the table nearby.  Apparently this mortal found
something amusing.  I looked up, musing on the thought that perhaps it was
time to feed, and was struck by the sight of two large, dark eyes staring
into my soul.  I couldn't tear my gaze away and for a moment was reminded,
shockingly, of Armand.  But the hair of the figure before me was black not
auburn, and the skin was a mid brown instead of bone white.  I blinked and
looked back down at my hands.  And the figure laughed again.  It was a
low, almost indiscernible sound, like the rippling of a piano beneath the
manic song of a violin.  The imagery I had unwittingly summoned struck me
to be not my own, and I looked closely at the figure.  "Who are you?" I
wanted to ask, but all sound caught in my throat.  The figure rose to
leave, gathering up some papers from the table.  I was about to stand up
as the figure passed my table, when a soft, French accented voice
whispered in my ear "Perhaps, you may get your answers, vampire".

In shock I remained in the cafe until it began to close, and it was only
then, as I rose to leave, that I remembered what the figure had been
carrying.  The pages had been filled with music, whole pages of manuscript
covered with freshly written notes, a veritable concerto.  And for once I
was glad that Lestat was insensible to the world, because, I knew that it
was a concerto for the violin.