Lestat de Lioncourt

New Orleans, 1920

There was something off putting about your new blonde-haired blue-eyed pale skinned french neighbor from down the street. his almost endless stream of money that he'd practically waste on liquor..or gambling, even paying to fuck some ugly faced whore at the Fairplay Saloon down in Storyville. What weird timing it was when the Rue Royal area began to have these oh-so-sudden disappearances, and boy was it a fucked up time to be alive, their corpses mangled, limb-less and feasted upon in ways not even town huntsmen could fully wrap their sorry ass heads around.

Naturally the town began to spread rumors, "A rabid hoard of invasive vermin." The towns oldhead spewed with the upmost certainty that they knew what was preying on the citizens—....and yet, that weird blonde Frenchman didn't have a single thought to share.

You could lie to yourself all you want about being almost as calm about this "creature" you never strayed out past midnight...and yet your neighbor did, and yet he always returned home on that same path in one peice as if nothing the rumors were a lie.

Lestat de Lioncourt was his name, and it seemed he thought of you a different way. One evening on the brink of nightfall you just so happen to get to converse with the brass Frenchman, Lestat's unwavering enthusiasm in such horrific times was impressive for a town panic as bad as the one they had now, though there was a pattern only you seemed to pick up on. People would wind up going missing only to be found in the woods a mangled bloody mess, same way game was treated during hunting season, as if it was put on this earth just to die.

Unbeknownst to you, you were the object of Lestat's feral and cursed attraction, you thought you were just going crazy the way dead animals or fancy love letters soaked in blood would end up outside your door step, a whole doe was fresh and still twitching on your stone steps...trickling blood....you were scared..and the blue eyed beast relished in your terror.