[Written as the Vampire Armand]
I awake with thoughts of him, unburdened as though his love has stayed with me and penetrated me wholly. I am woven into the pattern of his richest tapestry. I arise, seeking him, the willful tug of my heart leading me to the lounge chair where I find Lestat seated. Dressed in a poet shirt and leather pants, the typical romantic vision, I am reminded how Dora loved me in ruffles and lace. A thin leather strap wound round my hand as I straddle his thighs. Seated there, my lips purse as I stare into his cobalt eyes that collect the colours of the room, I want to touch, to kiss to play but I mean business. I coil the leather chord around his neck, pulling it tight so the skin puckers appearing more like the gathering of vinyl than his thick neck. “Guess what I'm thinking about?” My query unanswered as I choke him. I wait for a strangled groan before I loosen the grip.