Florelle's crypt

Lining up toys

• Twirling or pulling hair

rearranging objects

Walking on tiptoes

• Rocking back and forth

• Repeating words,

• Spinning in circles

phrases, or sounds

• Flapping hands

• Biting fingernails

• Repetitive or hard

• Moving or waving fingers

blinking

in front of eyes

• Pacing

• Rubbing, scratching, or

• Chewing or mouthing

picking at skin

objects

• Picking at scabs or sores

• Flicking, snapping,

• Bouncing leg or foot

tapping, or drumming

• Moving toes

fingers

• Sniffing things

• Cracking knuckles or

• Head banging or

other joints

dragging head on the

• Humming or whistling

floor

• Singing the same song

• Licking things

repeatedly

Rubbing or stroking

• Clapping

• Spinning objects objects, fabrics

• Clearing throat or surfaces

coughing repetitively

• Bouncing, jumping, or

• Opening and closing twirling doors

• Starting at rotating

• Flicking light switches on objects (e.g., ceiling fans)

and off

• Punching

• Clenching fists

• Biting

• Tapping a pencil

• Staring at a visual

This moment is still just as fresh and just as soul-ascending as it was the first time we all collectively lost our minds with the devastating heartbreak that is "Did you hurt yourself?"

It's way his voice gives out. The raw pain. The high-pitched strain because his throat is closing from the decades of agony of knowing Louis was in so much pain that he harmed himself. He remembered down to the minute. "September 8th, 1973. It was 11:07 here."

It's the visceral terror of broaching this subject. He's so overwhelmed he can barely remain upright to get the question out. He's almost hyper-ventilating. It's like a raw nerve flaying open Lestat's heart. Almost 50 years of believing Louis was dead. Almost 50 years of believing his beautiful Louis had succumbed to the darkness just like his Nicki. Almost 50 years of believing he'd been left alone on this wretched earth. Almost 50 years of believing his most sacred treasure had been lost forever. Almost 50 years of living with the knowledge he hadn't been able to help Louis by telling him that he is loved like all the past times when Louis was spiraling, but Lestat could always be there with "I love you, Louis" to pull him back.

"I love you, Louis. Tell him I love him, Armand. I love you, Louis. Tell him Armand! Tell him!"

It's the way Louis looks away when Lestat begins, because Louis knows. It's the way the entire breadth and depth of emotions flicker across Louis' face, and he lets his guard completely drop. This is Lestat. His Lestat. The Lestat he dreamed about during the cold and lonely nights. The Lestat for whom Louis was waiting to say "I love you" on September 8th 1973. Louis wanted it. Louis needed it. Louis ached for his Lestat. The Lestat who always told him that he was loved and treasured when Louis was spiraling over the edge. And Louis looks away from the magnitude of the moment, because he knows he can finally unleash all his pain. He can finally allow himself to be comforted, because this is his Lestat, and his Lestat has always loved him and cared for him.

And the thing is — Lestat needs to know if Louis hurt himself. That concern for Louis. That care for Louis. That love for Louis. All those things of which Louis has been severely deprived for over 80 years.

This is Lestat's soul speaking, and it's nothing but crippling and bleeding love for Louis. And Louis finally lets his soul rest within the balm that is Lestat's soul.

This is Louis finally getting his desperately wanted and desperately needed "I love you."

There are lives that become legends before they are done bleeding out at our hands; because it is safe, familiar, because when we see angels silently staring at us from old icons, we can be sure that they will not start asking questions of us, that they will not tell us to look into a mirror.

And we feel assured in our actions, because we are only too aware that often what we call history is nothing more than a story that happened to be written down.

And then - and then, fiction can be more true than history too, sometimes, and go beyond the words that have remained.

La Terreur et La Vertu. One of my favorite scenes, ever (and what it personally has meant to me is another story). The ideals of the Republic worth more than life - worth more than victory.

Transcribed below.

[1:33:30] - watch here

ROBESPIERRE. Why didn’t you help us with your advice, your support?

SAINT-JUST. We had 17 companies of cannoneers and 32 guns. The Convention, only one company. At 7pm, we needed to lead two companies at the main entrance of the Convention. At the eastern gate, one company. At the western gate, two companies. At 7:30pm, we needed to invade the committee and arrest all members on the spot. At 7:45pm, we had to invade the Convention, proclaim the constitution of 1793, outlaw Tallien, Freron, Barras and other rascals. We had to send to the École de Mars one company to rally officer cadets and the forces there. At 8pm, we had to announce in Paris the triumph of the Commune, and the insurrection of the half-hearted would have crowned the insurrection of the bold. 

ROBESPIERRE. And you did nothing.

SAINT-JUST. Would I have done it…Would you have approved?

ROBESPIERRE. No.

SAINT-JUST. The people of 10 August had the right to invade the Tuileries. The people of 31 May and 5 September had the right to invade the Convention. Not armed forces. Today we were left with the dictatorship of the armed forces. The military dictatorship. We would be… Suspended in the void. Robespierre, consul of the Republic. Saint-Just, consul of the Republic.

ROBESPIERRE. What Republic?

Happy birthday, Saint-Just.