[ reply] “Where are we going, Louis?” Claudia mumbled softly. Her voice was barely audible, even in the stillness of the night.
The wood seemed enchanted and indeed, it was. The moon had cast her magic spell over the cobwebbed, mossy trees and the weeping willows. Claudia would not have been surprised if it was home to faeries, goblins, unicorns, and all sorts of mystical creatures. She could live there, too, for she was as radiant and unearthly as any faerie queen, but she was content enough in her stately apartment home. She was sure that the blood of woodland creatures, even enchanted ones, would not taste as sweet on her tongue as that of humans’. And who or what else could hold her in her coffin each night as well as Louis?
Over the months he and Lestat had her and she had him and Lestat, they developed a kinship, a familial bond tightly woven from midnight reading sessions, waltzes around the parlor, discussions that revealed more in common between the two that met the eye, and plenty of hugs and kisses. It pained her to think of her mother, deep in her wormy sleeping death, and the life she had known before, but her mind pushed it back. All that mattered to her now was the music and the poetry books, the dolls and pretty dresses, the love of her two fathers, and human blood – something she developed a disturbingly ravenous appetite for.
Her father, this father, with his somber green eyes she never saw light up as he tore into a human’s neck, far more mild and empathetic than the other, did not seem to be taking her to hunt. She admitted, she was a little disappointed, but she could sustain her hunger. If for anyone in the world, it would be Louis. She tightened her grip on his hand and gave a solemn, but nonetheless, sweet little smile. She wondered about the strange place they were going, so much that she was so lost in her own imaginings that it took a while for her to come out of it, even upon arrival.
When the world came into focus, she gasped. Whatever fairy castle she imagined could not have been more beautiful. It was the little things now, like the satin of a ribbon trim or the mahogany-colored binding of a book, that made her heart soar like nothing else. Fireflies or lucioles, as they were called in French. She remembered seeing them as a small child and thinking they were green sprites whose job was to kiss the grass with the glow of their light and turn it green. She could scarcely believe they were even real.
“Oh, Louis, they’re wonderful! Thank you!”
She reached out as if to touch one, but was careful not to. She didn’t want to crush them, but she did want to see their light glow against her delicate hands. She smiled and nodded at his suggestion. “Let us catch one then.”
Louis watched in fascination as the green light reflected off of her finger like porcelain. He felt as if he’d stumbled into the fairy land of a Midsummer Night’s dream as he watched her. Would she ever be able to grow? He had carefully avoided that thought since they took her, but in that moment, as she looked so delicate and so inhuman he couldn’t help but worry for her.
“Just one?” He asked with a small, sad smile that didn’t change his eyes.
“That sounds a little lonely, don’t you think? Perhaps three. One for each of us. Does that sound better?”
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