something so poetically beautiful about devilβs minion is that armand is five hundred years old. he had daniel for twelve of those. a mere twelve. thatβs not even a twentieth of his entire existence. and yet those twelve years were enough to blind armand with love, enough to make him weak in the face of danielβs probing, enough to make him turn a mortal into a vampire after always finding it so repulsive! he has lived half a century, loved deeply before daniel, and yet. and yet! armand was so distracted by his love for daniel that he unconsciously let daniel destroy the seventy seven years he had built up with louis in a single moment. almost one hundred years with the βlove of his lifeβ, gone in an instant.
and in the same vein, something just as romantic is that daniel doesnβt even remember those years with armand, but they still haunt him relentlessly. they fuck up his life, bring him to his knees. he feels armandβs absence until he dies without even knowing what it is. daniel is so proud and so cruel and bitter and yet he is weak to armand, too, without even being aware of it.
an ancient vampire who remembers a decade or so in vivid detail. and a mortal who does not remember a thing, yet misses him anyway. no wonder their vampire bond makes the whole world fall away. it as if from the moment they met they have circled each other, unable to pull out of each others orbit no matter how hard they try.
