"we haven't married.
don't plan to, either . "

ii. the entertainer
6130 words.

           1910 marked another shift in Lucienne's life, though not quite as seismic as the one that claimed her in 1908. The streets of New Orleans in those days were a riot of sound and sensation—drunken revelry spilling from taverns, the soft murmur of illicit deals, the scent of tobacco and cheap perfume clinging to the humid air. Lucienne often described the city as a fever dream, a place where the line between life and death blurred more with each setting sun.

"There was always something," Lucienne murmured to Daniel, her tone languid, as though the memories dripped like molasses. "Drinking, gambling, fighting, whoring. It was all a part of the scene. New Orleans was alive in ways other places couldn't comprehend." Her lips quirked into a half-smile, a touch of nostalgia in her gaze. "I lived there most of my life—both when I was alive, and when I wasn't."

She smoothed her hands over the silk of her stockings, adjusting the hem of her dress before slipping into the crowd. The city pulsed with its own rhythm, and she moved to it effortlessly, greeting men with the barest flicker of a smile or the playful wiggle of her fingers.

Every gesture deliberate, every move like a dance she'd long ago mastered. "I was a performer," Lucienne continued, her voice low, almost purring. "I sang, I danced, I... entertained. They all knew who I was, of course. Every man in those streets had seen what lay beneath my dress."

A wicked smile flashed across her face. "It kept me fed. Always a meal to be had, one way or another."

In 1910, Lucienne found herself straddling a man in the back alley of a dimly lit saloon, her body pressed close as her lips brushed his throat. Her fangs slid easily into his flesh, and the thick, warm blood flowed over her tongue like the finest wine. She savored it, letting the man's final gasp mingle with the distant hum of jazz and laughter echoing from the street.

"And Lover Lestat?" She laughed softly, almost fondly. "He didn't mind. Never did. As long as I came home, he had no quarrel with it."

   "While it certainly stirred the blood, it was far easier to sink my teeth into those who'd carelessly tossed around their petty slurs," Lucienne scoffed, her lips curling into a smirk.

It had been two years since the night Lestat turned her, two years of prowling the streets, of learning to feed with grace. By now, he trusted her enough to indulge in her vices, though his watchful gaze never strayed far. He was always there, lingering in the shadows, ensuring she kept her bloodlust in check.

But New Orleans was her playground, and Lucienne knew its secrets well. "I was always there," Lucienne said softly to the interviewer, her gaze distant, as if recalling the endless nights that bled together in a swirl of darkness and desire.

She stood quietly at the periphery, watching as Louis gripped the knife, pressing it to his brother's throat. Her eyes narrowed, sweeping over the dimly lit street before she found him—the one who always lurked, never far from Louis' shadow.

Lestat. Even in the faint light, his long hair caught her eye instantly, his presence a dark stain on the scene before her. Lucienne let out a dry, humorless laugh. "I never understood his obsession with that man," she said, almost to herself, the ghost of a smile dancing on her lips.

Later, Lucienne stood in front of the door, the silk of her nightgown brushing her bare legs as she waited. The moonlight filtered in through the windows, casting soft shadows across her pale skin. She watched Lestat enter, his step light, his gaze predatory as ever.

"Is your lover well?" she asked, her voice laced with sarcasm, the slightest tilt of her head betraying her irritation.

"Mon amour," Lestat greeted her with a wicked grin, moving toward her with that familiar feline grace. His hands slid to her waist, the touch almost affectionate as he pressed a kiss to each cheek. But Lucienne stood still, her expression unreadable, her gaze cold.

"Is he?" she repeated, her voice cutting through the stillness, and Lestat's smile faltered.

"Don't be that way," he sighed, turning away from her, already dismissing her irritation.

Lucienne's brow arched, her lips curling into a thin smile as she pushed further, her words deliberate. "Am I going to be your mistress, then? Or will he?" she asked, her tone biting. "Is he going to take my place?"

Without a moment's hesitation, Lestat moved—faster than the eye could follow—until he stood before her, his eyes locked onto hers, the intensity of his gaze making the air feel heavier. But Lucienne didn't flinch. She reveled in moments like this, moments where she could poke at him, see how far she could push before he snapped. It was a game, one she was all too familiar with.

A low sigh escaped Lestat's lips as his gaze softened, his eyes briefly lowering. "Your place could never be taken," he said, his voice calm, as if trying to soothe her.

"Really?" Lucienne responded, her eyes glinting in challenge, not fully convinced.

Later, she sat across from Daniel, her posture relaxed, a knowing smirk playing on her lips. Her gaze flickered briefly to Louis before she spoke again. "I'll be honest, since this is an interview and all," she said, her tone blunt. "I wanted to shank Louis before Lestat ever approached him."

Louis chuckled softly, lowering his head, the sound barely audible. "I almost did," she added, her voice carrying the hint of a dark amusement. "But, I was afraid Lestat would cut my head clean off," Lucienne admitted, her tone casual, as if discussing the weather, though the underlying tension was unmistakable.

Her eyes flickered with the memory, a faint glint of fear long since buried under layers of hardened resolve. "So, I obliged. I went along with his grand schemes, his endless plans... just like that."

She sighed, a sound heavy with both resignation and a trace of bitter amusement, as though even now she could laugh at how easily she'd folded. "That's the thing about Lestat—" she continued, her gaze distant, "You can fight him all you want, but at the end of the day, you're his, whether you like it or not."

Her fingers absentmindedly toyed with the lace of her sleeve, a gesture both elegant and restless, as if the weight of her own words stirred something uncomfortable inside her. "So, I played along," she added softly, "Because the alternative wasn't worth thinking about."

Lucienne stood poised under the hazy glow of lanterns inside the Fairplay Saloon, her silhouette bathed in soft golden light. She moved like silk across the stage, her voice slipping through the smoky air—radiant, tender, with a haunting quality that stilled the room. The gentle sway of her hips matched the melody, her eyes half-lidded as she scanned the crowd. Bright, almond-shaped eyes glittered in the dimness, finding every soul in the room without revealing much of her own.

   The men behind her played a slow, rhythmic tune, their instruments weaving seamlessly with her voice. She was a mystery and a marvel, an enchantress who seemed to belong to the night itself. As she sang, her gaze lifted to the balcony, and her eyes locked onto Louis. A soft tension sparked between them, though Louis's expression was distant. They exchanged a long, weighty glance, hers curious, his unreadable.

   "I knew who she was," Louis said in the present, his voice contemplative, as though speaking of an elusive figure in a dream. "Everyone knew her—no matter how mysterious she kept herself."

   Daniel, with his ever-casual directness, raised an eyebrow. "Did you do her?"

   Louis's response was immediate, almost too direct. "If you're asking if I slept with her, no. I didn't." He paused, the weight of something unspoken hanging in the air. "I only knew of her."

   The words felt simple, yet in Louis's tone, there was the sense of something more, a deeper recognition.

   Lucienne watched as Louis's head turned, his gaze fixated on Miss Lily and Lestat, their laughter a melody she could almost taste in the humid air. Though she continued to weave her song—a haunting tune that drifted like smoke through the night—her ears remained attuned to the murmurs of the men nearby. Louis's posture was rigid, an unmistakable sign of tension that sparked her curiosity.

   "He was defensive," Lucienne remarked, her tone playful, yet laced with a hint of seriousness.

   "I wasn't defensive," Louis countered, a flicker of indignation in his voice.

   Lucienne shrugged, her dark curls framing her face like a halo. "Oh, but you were quite defensive," she teased, arching an eyebrow. "You weren't exactly open, darling."

   The sultry air enveloped them, a blend of night-blooming jasmine and the distant echo of jazz, yet the weight of their conversation lingered, heavy and loud.

   "I found a certain disgust in watching Lestat kiss Miss Lily, perhaps for the same reasons as Louis," Lucienne sighed, the memory vivid in her mind, sharp as the night air.

   "I wanted to take the end of my cane and slit his throat with it," Louis replied, his voice tinged with bitterness.

   The scene replayed in Lucienne's mind—Lestat, all charm and bravado, vying for the affections of Lily while Louis stood aside, simmering in frustration. It was a tableau that stoked the fires of her own jealousy.

   "I was truly an angry person," Lucienne mused, her tone reflecting the weight of that past. "A jealous one. Yet I was forced to share him... a slut masked as a suitable man" she remarked bluntly, the sting of the memory still fresh.

   "And.. it was sheer coincidence that I happened to bump into Louis," she continued, her gaze drifting as if searching for the echoes of those days.

   "Right," Daniel interjected, an unconvinced tone wrapped into his words.

   After Lucienne finished her song, she moved gracefully, her shoulder brushing against Louis's as she passed. She glanced up at him, her eyes sparkling. "My apologies," she said, flashing her signature charming smile, the kind that could melt hearts and mask her true intentions.

   The man looked at her, his expression clouded with something between thought and regret. "The apology is mine," he muttered, his gaze lingering on her as if he had just realized something significant. "You're, uh... you're..."

"Lucienne," she finished with a small, knowing smile, her voice carrying a softness that seemed to both soothe and unsettle him.

"I was being immature," Lucienne confessed in the present day, her tone frank as she spoke to Daniel. "I was upset, and I acted irrationally. I didn't bite him, if that's what you're thinking. I just took advantage of the situation. He was in a vulnerable state... and I slept with him." She paused, the corners of her mouth twitching into something resembling amusement. "Lover Lestat didn't take too kindly to that."

Lestat stormed into the sitting room, his eyes dark with restrained fury. His gaze fell upon Lucienne, who lounged casually, almost mocking him with her indifference. "What were you doing with him?" His voice was tight with anger. "I did not give you permission to approach him."

Lucienne stood from the sofa with a teasing smile, her tone dripping with sarcasm. "Oh? You can approach him, but I cannot?" she quipped, brushing past him as if his ire meant little to her.

Lestat's nostrils flared—he could smell the other man on her, the scent of betrayal mingled with his own jealousy. In a flash, his hand wrapped around her arm, the grip firm, his warning clear. "Lucienne, what did you do?" His voice was low, taut with barely concealed rage.

She met his gaze, calm, collected, and with an air of deliberate defiance. "I did exactly what you love to do in your spare time," she replied, her words slow and deliberate, watching the flicker of worry in his eyes before she dropped the bomb. "I slept with him."

Relief, mingled with a strange resignation, crossed Lestat's face. He looked less angry than she expected, which only caused her to scoff. He wasn't upset she'd betrayed him in that way—no, it was the fact that she had acted without his permission.

"And what for?" Lestat asked, his tone blunt, biting.

"For my own pleasure," she answered, her voice light, as if discussing something trivial. She pulled her arm free from his grasp, taking a few steps away. "And he paid, of course. I'm allowed to—"

"You're allowed to work!" Lestat's voice thundered, his temper snapping like a tightly wound string, his words cutting the air between them. "But you are not allowed to indulge your own whims! Especially not with him!"

Lucienne didn't flinch at his outburst, accustomed to the volatile nature of their relationship. She simply let out a quiet sigh, a small smile tugging at her lips. "Goodnight, Lestat," she murmured sweetly, turning her back on him and ascending the stairs with deliberate grace. He stood there, watching her go, the weight of his anger heavy in the silence.

In truth, Lucienne found a twisted satisfaction in pushing Lestat's buttons when he angered her. It was a game she reveled in, a dance of power between them. Perhaps she was petty, manipulative, and angry—but these were things she had learned from the very man who now seethed below her. She knew how to twist the knife, how to spark that familiar fire in his eyes, and in some strange way, it was what kept them bound together.

She had become as much of a creature of manipulation and chaos as he had—only, she had learned to wield it with a smile.

Only a few days later, Lucienne and Louis would cross paths on the narrow streets of New Orleans. Their silent acknowledgment was nothing more than a subtle tilt of the head, a fleeting glance—yet there was something simmering in those looks, something more dangerous than just curiosity. Lust flickered in the space between them, though neither dared speak a word.

"I hated it," Lucienne confessed, her voice cool and unflinching. "Imagine watching a man you swore was your soulmate—someone you would've died for—pursue another with the same hunger he once had for you. There's no way that ever feels good. It stings in a way that digs deep."

She glanced over at Louis, her expression almost unreadable, save for the flicker of something raw in her eyes. "I was envious, truth be told, and I wasn't the kindest in the beginning, not even before I—well before I acted on it."

In the past, Lucienne found herself performing in a different kind of club, one draped in glamour and the weight of old money. Her gown sparkled under the dim light, catching the attention of every set of eyes in the room. She sang with a voice so delicate, so enchanting, that the room seemed to breathe with her every note. As she neared the end of her performance, stepping gracefully off the stage, her gaze fell upon Louis—his face partly shadowed, but unmistakable in the crowd.

Her interest remained aloof until she saw him approaching, Lestat by his side, both men weaving their way through the crowd toward her. There was no escaping it now.

"My beautiful Luci," Lestat greeted, his voice smooth, his hands sliding around her waist as he leaned in to place a kiss on her cheek. She responded with a practiced smile, her elegance a shield as she greeted him.

"Lestat," she murmured, her tone graceful, almost detached. Then, her gaze slid over to Louis.

"This is my friend, Louis," Lestat introduced with a flourish, his usual charm on full display, a theatrical performance only he could pull off.

"We've met," Lucienne replied with a smile, her eyes locking with Louis, who nodded in return. The tension between them was palpable, though they both hid it beneath layers of decorum.

Lestat, watching them, seemed almost pleased. "Wonderful," he purred.

"And that's how it began," Lucienne said in present day, her voice carrying a knowing weight. "The two men became inseparable—best friends, even—and I, well, I was there because Lestat wanted me there. Said it'd be better that way." She paused, her lips curving into a faint smile, dark and satisfied. "While Lestat built his trust, I stoked his desire. It was a game, really. And it was fun."

The game of possession and manipulation, the twisted dance between them all—it was all part of Lestat's design, but Lucienne was no passive player. She knew exactly what she was doing, even if it meant igniting the lust in Louis while under the ever-watchful eyes of the vampire who had first claimed her. And she enjoyed every second of it.

"Where are you boys off to?" Lucienne's voice, soft and smooth like silk, floated across the warm evening air, halting Louis mid-step. He turned immediately, eyes finding her seated outside, while Lestat's head followed a beat slower, glancing back with mild interest.

"Lestat's updating his wardrobe," Louis answered, the corner of his mouth lifting ever so slightly. Lucienne's eyes sparkled as she smiled at him, her gaze lingering on Louis for just a moment before drifting to Lestat.

"Finally shedding those relics from the past?" she teased, standing gracefully as her dress shifted like water around her. She leaned in and pecked Lestat's cheek, her lips barely brushing the skin before she withdrew.

"I suppose so," Lestat responded, a faint smirk tugging at his lips. Louis glanced between them, sensing the unspoken dance of old, tangled affections in the air, though he said nothing of it.

"You two enjoy yourselves, then," Lucienne smiled again, her lips a perfect curve. "I've got some business to tend to." With that, she turned, her steps slow and deliberate, the sway of her figure drawing eyes as she strode off with the poise of someone who knew exactly the effect she had.

It was always the three of them—operas, wardrobe fittings, nights drenched in wine and music—but even then, Lucienne knew how to find Louis alone, to slip between his moments of grandiosity and indulgence. She played her game well.

Later that night, Louis walked alone through the quiet streets, the dim glow of gas lamps casting long shadows across the cobblestones. He was a man adrift, lost in thought, his usual wariness softened by the solitude.

He hadn't seen Lucienne until he felt the familiar tug at his hat, pulling it right off his head. Startled, he spun around, confusion flickering in his dark eyes before his lips curled into a smile.

"Miss Luci," he greeted, watching her as she placed the hat on her own head, her laughter soft and melodic.

"Hello, Louis," Lucienne responded, falling into step beside him as though it was the most natural thing in the world. The two walked in easy silence, their footsteps syncing with the rhythm of the night.

After some time, Louis spoke, his voice quiet but curious. "I've got a question."

Lucienne tilted her head slightly, her expression calm but attentive. "Oh? And what might that be?"

Louis glanced at her, his eyes narrowing slightly as if weighing his words. "What is Mr. de Lioncourt to you?" His question was pointed, his gaze sharp as he studied her, waiting for her answer.

Lucienne paused, her eyes flicking around the street before she spoke, her voice light but guarded. "We live under the same roof, Louis."

"Then you're married?" he asked, though something in his voice suggested he already knew the answer.

She shook her head, her expression softening as she replied, "We haven't married. Don't plan to, either."

Louis stopped, turning to face her fully. "Then what is it all about?" His voice was low, earnest. "Miss Luci... your work, and his ways..."

A slow smile curved on Lucienne's lips as she reached up, removing the hat from her head and smoothing her hair back into place with practiced elegance. "Neither of which concern us, cher," she replied, her tone gentle but firm, a slight edge of amusement lingering.

As she moved to place the hat back on Louis's head, his hands reached out, capturing her wrist in a gentle hold. Their eyes locked, the world around them momentarily fading as they stood there on the quiet street, bathed in the glow of the lamplight.

   "It's just that," Lucienne murmured, her voice softening into a near whisper, the edges of her words smooth and alluring. "It's free. Comfortable." Her fingers lingered, brushing against Louis' skin, light as a breath, before she pulled her hand away and stepped back, her movements languid, deliberate.

   "Comfortable being a Desmarais," she added, though her lips hardly moved. The words seemed to hang in the air, yet they hadn't come from her mouth. They echoed in his mind, slipping into his thoughts like a familiar intrusion, telepathic. She was inside his head, effortlessly slipping through his defenses, the way Lestat often did.

   "Don't question it," her voice echoed again, softer now, yet commanding. A subtle pull of power in her tone, leaving no room for doubt or resistance. Her presence wrapped around his thoughts like a velvet tether, drawing him in even as she physically stepped away. The connection lingered long after she'd withdrawn, a whisper in the back of his mind.

Lucienne smiled, her eyes flicking to the side before she leaned in, leaving a quick, playful kiss on Louis's cheek. He blinked, momentarily caught off guard by the gesture. And just like that, she was gone, walking away with her hands folded gracefully in front of her, her silhouette dissolving into the night like a whisper.

"The kiss was manipulative in itself," Daniel remarked, his tone flat, his expression one of mild disinterest, though his eyes betrayed a hint of curiosity.

   Lucienne's eyes narrowed, a flash of indignation in her gaze. "You mean alluring," she corrected, her voice honeyed but sharp. "I'm an alluring person, Daniel. Never manipulative." A soft, almost dismissive laugh followed. "He was being hunted—by Lestat. I wanted to do more. I wanted to lure him." Her voice softened, a quiet intensity creeping in. "Just as Lestat did to me."

   The memory still clung to her, lingering in the air like the humidity of the New Orleans night.

   Lucienne stepped into the grand house she shared with Lestat, the echoes of old opulence in the creaking wood and rich tapestries that lined the walls. She moved with purpose, gliding through the dimly lit corridors until she reached the sitting room. There he was, waiting. As soon as she appeared, Lestat's eyes lifted to meet hers, lighting up with a joy that seemed almost too bright.

   "Mon amour, I've missed you," he greeted her, a wide, predatory grin spreading across his face, his arms extending as though to embrace her from across the room.

   Lucienne tilted her head slightly, her expression calm, almost detached. "Did you?" she asked, her voice carrying a note of playful suspicion as she stopped in front of him. Lestat rose to his feet, his movements graceful, and fluid, like a lion preparing to pounce.

   "Much so," he responded, his voice softening into something more intimate. His hand remained outstretched, and after a moment, Lucienne placed hers into it, the gesture as much a game as a promise. He pulled her closer, their faces hovering mere inches apart, the air between them crackling with an unspoken tension. "I'm glad you've come to terms with this," he whispered, his breath warm against her skin.

   "Pour toi," (For you,) Lucienne replied quietly, her French lilting, her voice holding a subtle resignation, punctuated by a small shrug. For you.

   Lestat's grin deepened, his eyes glowing with satisfaction as he cupped her face, his fingers pressing into the soft curve of her jaw. He pulled her in, kissing her with a hunger that bordered on possessive.

   Lucienne melted into the kiss, her body instinctively molding against his, hands drifting up to clutch at his back. There was always a sense of urgency between them, as though they were starved for one another, desperate to consume and be consumed.

   The kiss deepened, a rawness to it that hinted at the need beneath the surface, a dance of power and desire. Lestat's hands moved with a familiar intent, fingers skimming the fabric of her dress, seeking to undo it, to strip her bare. She could feel the intensity rising, the way his touch ignited a fire under her skin.

   It was always like this—passionate, desperate, like they could devour the world and still not be sated. And soon, as always, things would unravel, spiraling out of control in the heat of their longing. The night was young, and in that moment, they were both lost to it.

   "Recently, we weren't very fond of each other," Lucienne's voice held a languid indifference, but her eyes sparked with something darker beneath the surface. "It wasn't until he practically pried my hands open and placed them in Louis' that he found a place for me. Ridiculous, right?"

The room fell into a quiet stillness, the weight of her words settling over them like a heavy fog. She glanced around at their silent faces, then shrugged, as though brushing it off. "I took it though," she added, her voice almost too casual, "I was to be with him for eternity." The word hung in the air, like a promise, or a curse.

She leaned back, eyes narrowing as she thought back to those early days. "That eternity would be a lot easier if he could win over Louis. Which wasn't hard, surprisingly." Her lips curled into a small, ironic smile. "One moment, Louis loathed everything about Lestat. The next, he's inviting us to dinner with his family."

Her gaze drifted to the memory, her voice growing softer, almost distant. "Lestat—he stood out like a flame in the dark. Bright, impossible to ignore. And me, I blended in." She let out a low, humorless chuckle.

They sat around the dinner table that night, Lestat, in his usual flamboyant manner, charmed and toyed with them effortlessly, while Lucienne remained quiet, her presence barely acknowledged, a shadow among the living.

The dinner had always been a balancing act—Lestat speaking for Lucienne more often than not, allowing her to remain in the shadows, an observer just outside the spotlight. But tonight, as the conversation simmered and the room hummed with tension, even Lucienne couldn't escape its pull. She spoke just enough to stay polite, though her presence remained subdued, almost ghostlike.

"Oh, I think every young family deserves a little adventure. Wouldn't you say, Monsieur Lioncourt?" Florence's voice chimed through the dining room, light and proper.

Lestat answered smoothly, without missing a beat. "Oui, Madame." His voice carried the same effortless charm, and Lucienne's gaze flickered between the two before returning to her plate, content to let the conversation flow around her like a river. "My mother, she gave me every advantage in life as a young man. My first Mastiff, first flintlock rifle, the means to make my way to Paris."

Lucienne, eyes still cast downward, found a faint amusement in the exchange, though her outward expression remained poised, almost serene.

"It was Louis that purchased your holiday, Levi," Paul cut in sharply, the suddenness of his voice slicing through the dinner's fragile decorum. "It's Louis who controls the money."

Louis, ever the mediator, was quick to intervene. "Pay no mind, Levi."

But Paul wasn't finished. "And I don't know who gave you the right to call our mother your mother. She's not your mother yet. And she will never be your scientific mother."

A small smile ghosted across Lucienne's lips at Paul's audacity. Direct and biting, she liked that about him, though she remained still, the fleeting grin hidden behind the rim of her glass.

"Paul," Florence warned gently, though her voice carried an edge, a mother's warning not to push too far.

Lestat's grin widened slightly, his eyes flicking from Paul to his plate as though savoring the discord like a well-seasoned dish. "I do love this bouillabaisse," he remarked, clearly enjoying the tension.

Paul blinked, confused. "Wha?"

"Down here, we call it gumbo," Florence corrected.

"We had some gumbo the other night, didn't we, Louis, Luci?" Lestat's tone was deceptively light, but Lucienne felt the weight of his words as they landed. She glanced up, her focus sharpening slightly at the sound of her name.

"Yes," she murmured, a small, practiced smile curling at the corner of her mouth. "Right after the opera."

"Oh?" Grace's eyes widened in disbelief. "You two got Louis to an opera?"

Lestat turned to her with a smug smile. "Iolanta."

"'Bout some blind princess, didn't know she was a princess. Stomach got grumblin', left halfway through," Louis added, causing Lucienne's attention to flicker toward him, her interest piqued once again.

"It was... quite enjoyable," Lucienne muttered, her voice barely more than a whisper, as she raised her glass to her lips. She tilted her head, as if the memory amused her, though the gesture was as fleeting as her words.

Then came the question that shattered the fragile peace: "And what exactly is the nature of your relationship with my brother, Monsieur Lioncourt, Miss Desmarais?"

Paul's voice hit the room like a thunderclap. Lucienne nearly choked on her drink, a soft cough escaping her as she quickly covered her mouth, trying to regain composure. The room plunged into silence, all eyes on them. Her pulse quickened, but outwardly, she remained calm, even as her mind raced.

Lestat's expression hardened, though his voice was as smooth as ever. "Your brother and I have been discussing a few investment opportunities," he said, but the sharpness in his tone was unmistakable.

Lucienne gave a quick, almost forced smile, her usual composure faltering for a brief moment. "We're quite friendly, we were introduced," she added, her voice hollow, a mere echo of her usual poise. This dinner, with its creeping tension and undercurrents of hostility, was beginning to feel unbearable.

Paul tried to backtrack, turning to his mother. "The birds asked me to ask you," he said defensively. "I wasn't being rude." Lucienne watched Louis, the silence around him growing heavy, his expression darkening as the evening dragged on.

Lestat shifted, letting the moment pass. "Monsieur Freniere, would you tell me how you came to propose to this delightsome young woman?" He smiled, trying to lighten the mood, and soft laughter rippled through the table.

Lucienne echoed the compliment, her voice soft but carrying just enough warmth to ease the tension. "Quite a beautiful woman," she spoke with a demure smile, the words feeling like they cost her something as she worked to restore a semblance of peace to the table.

But Paul wasn't finished. "Are you one with Christ, Mr. Lioncourt?" he asked abruptly, the air thickening once more.

Lucienne's eyes darted to Paul, her breath catching. What is he doing? she thought, her fingers tensing around her glass. "What...?" she began quietly, but her voice trailed off.

Before she could say more, Louis snapped, his blunt tone cutting through the awkwardness. "How 'bout you shut your damn mouth?"

"Louis," Florence murmured, trying to defuse the situation.

But it was too late. The room had descended into chaos, and Lucienne could feel the pressure building, an oppressive weight pressing down on her chest. She sensed Lestat's mood shift, the tension in his muscles, the growing rage beneath his surface calm. It was a storm she knew all too well.

"That's alright, Louis, Madame," Lestat responded, his voice cutting through the tension with a dissonant charm. "The birds speak for him," Lucienne's ear twitched ever so slightly, and she lowered her head, slipping into her familiar silence. She could feel Lestat—could practically map his movements without looking. After all these years, he was a constant presence in her mind, like the hum of a storm gathering on the horizon.

"I came to know Christ in a monastery. I wanted to be a priest. Just like you, Paul," Louis began, his voice soft, measured, a world of weight behind his words. "And under the guidance and discipline of the monks, I came to memorize both the testaments, the writings of Assisi, Aquinas, Erasmus, all the saints and scholars."

Lestat's smile wavered, and Lucienne exhaled slowly, a subtle reaction to the shift in the air. His change in demeanor was a familiar rhythm. She closed her eyes for a moment, listening, feeling every undercurrent in the room.

"My father, a vulgar man, did not think much of this education," Louis continued, "and so he and my brothers conspired to pull me out, lock me away, where, between beatings—"

Lucienne's fingers tensed around her glass, her eyes fixed downward, though she no longer saw the table. The words seemed to echo through her mind, striking something deep. It was too familiar. The quiet twitch of her eye betrayed the storm that was starting to brew inside her. She tried to focus on something else, anything else, but Louis' voice was relentless, cutting through her attempts to shut it out.

"Starvations, and the failure of Christ to intercede..." Lestat continued for him, his tone growing harsher, louder. Lucienne's jaw tightened.

"Lestat..." her voice slipped out, almost a whisper, a plea. She didn't want to hear anymore. The memories it dredged up—ones she had spent so long trying to bury—threatened to resurface, raw and unhealed.

But Louis, too, was relentless. "Stop," he said, his voice firmer now.

"And so, to answer your boring question," Lestat ignored him, his words biting, sharp. "There is an ocean between Christ and myself."

"Lestat, please." Lucienne's voice was louder now, more desperate, her eyes finally turning to him, searching for some trace of restraint. She could see the rising storm in him, the fury that only she and Louis could ever truly calm, but tonight... tonight it was getting away from him.

"Stop!" Louis said again, but the command was a whisper compared to the tempest brewing at the table.

Lestat's words came harsh, cutting through the thick tension in the room, snapping into French as he spat, "I hope that satisfies the bird's perching in your mind's cage!"

Lucienne's hand moved quickly, grabbing hold of Lestat's arm, her grip firm but her fingers trembling just slightly. "Lestat," she whispered again, her voice barely above the pulse pounding in her ears.

Before she could speak further, Louis' hand slammed down onto the table, the sharp sound jolting her from her thoughts. Lucienne's hand dropped away from Lestat's arm as she recoiled slightly, turning to face forward, her gaze locking onto the wall as if it were the only solid thing left in the room.

"Don't do that shit here!" Louis barked, his voice raw with anger. "Not with my family." The final words were softer, but they carried a weight that pressed down on the room like the oppressive heat of the New Orleans night.

Lucienne's hand fell limp into her lap, her eyes tracing the cracks in the wall as she tried to steady her breath. She could still feel the tremors of Lestat's fury beside her, but she could not calm him tonight. Her heart raced, but outwardly, she remained still. Quiet. A statue carved in the dim candlelight.

"You understand?" Louis' voice cut through the silence again, sharp as the crack of a whip.

Lestat's head bowed slightly, his calm returning like the slow retreat of a storm. "I am cursed with my father's temper at times," he admitted with a faint, distant smile, his eyes not meeting Lucienne's. "Something me and Luci share—our dinners are quite fueled—but the rudeness is all mine." His voice had calmed, though the air still crackled with the remnants of his outburst.

"That's all right. It's the humidity. It does that sometimes." Florence's soft voice pierced the tension with a measured calm. "Why don't we have some ice wine?" she suggested, the sound of a bell ringing gently as she summoned the servant. "And Levi here can tell us all again, how he won my joychild's heart."

Lucienne let out a long breath as the conversation shifted, her hand absently smoothing the fabric of her dress, her mind drifting far from the table. The tension hung in the air still, like the oppressive heat outside, refusing to fully dissipate. But for now, silence returned.

⛧

authors note: kind of have a hate and love relationship with this chapter. it literally took me so long to actually finish only because of school so i'd write between classes, and it was a whole mess, and ive just now finished it out, looked through it, improved it etc

so i hope you guys enjoy and get ready for the next chapter, im kind of shocked by the amount of views like it came so quickly 😭

i feel like luci's character seems so innocent right now which is perfect.. yall will find that out later tho.

i also wanted to let you guys know that ive made a spotify playlist titled 'lestat, lestat, lestat' with the songs mentioned in the act 1 chapt and more included.

so you can also use that if you want and that's all!! love u all.

https://open.spotify.com/playlist/67p4PRczx16Pq49wZAwigK?si=KhLl0QBiTaKeJXNWctBp2Q&pi=u-m1VQfKNyQL68