"Word reached me that a Frenchman was causing a stir." The park's lamplight cast an amber glow across her face, granting fleeting warmth to features that had long lost such a thing. For a moment, she was not a woman who had watched kingdoms collapse, wars rage, and plagues spread. She was simply someone waiting for a familiar face to appear.

"I wondered if it was ---" She paused; her face flickered with annoyance. Her spoken French had apparently remained just as inadequate as it was when they had last encountered each other. Back then, she had only just begun learning the language, but she supposed it was difficult to improve without anyone to practice with. She had imagined that if they ever crossed paths again, she might have finally shown that his language no longer defeated her. Perhaps now embarrassed by the effort, she abandoned it entirely and returned quickly to English.

She was perhaps silent for longer than she should have been. The lie did not wound her at all, though it was not truly a lie at all, she supposed. Lies were familiar things to them. They were taught to be tools that they were supposed to use and recognize. She understood why he withheld, and that truth was rarely given so freely. No, what unsettled her was the sudden and apparent distance. It was as though the chasm between them seemed to widen with every passing day, until she found herself questioning whether it had been there all along.

"Do you remember when we were children and did not need words?" she asked quietly, making sure that her voice was carefully controlled. However, a frown still crept onto her face.

She had spent her entire life knowing Roose, and perhaps even before it. They knew one another in ways no one ever could because there had never been a time when they did not. They had always been mirrors. There had been a time when she could look at him and know exactly what he was thinking. She could tell when he was upset. She knew when he was lying. She remembered even knowing when he wanted to go down to the dungeons at night, even though their father had forbidden it. She had followed him without fear and hesitation.

A pause followed her words, and the faint frown on her features disappeared as quickly as it came, replaced by practiced neutrality. "Now I look at you and wonder when it was that you became a stranger to me. Or perhaps, have I become one to you?"

"It is exhausting," she admitted, her voice lowering as if she were becoming depleted by the mere thought. Her head tilted a bit, her narrowed gaze lingering on him, quiet in thought. Her mouth opened slightly before closing again, as though weighing whether or not Ramsay had earned the compliment waiting at the tip of her tongue. "Yet, you looked past everything I gave to everyone else."

A small smile, one that was less polished and rehearsed, appeared on her features. "Quite unusual," she sighed, her voice dream-like. "Most quickly decide I am asking more than they are willing to give, but you were so eager." Her fingers drifted over the heavy pelts draped across his shoulder with the familiarity of a well-kept cat grooming one of its own before her hand climbed lazily to his jaw. Her hand cupped his cheek, and her thumb began to stroke his skin with unusual tenderness.

She tilted his head upwards, deliberately reminding him that she had a few inches on him. "You wanted me terribly," she continued, her voice light with teasing, far too pleased by her realization to pretend otherwise. She had spent years entertaining men who desired the woman she had been expected to become. He was the only one who had desired her exactly as she was. Lenora had not decided if that spoke to remarkable perception or awful judgement on his end. "You did not even send a raven to your Lord Father of your desire, nor did you bother with a charade of courtship... How terribly improper."

She leaned down to scatter small kisses against his flesh with a pleased hum as she pulled herself closer to him. "How are you going to explain this when you return to the Dreadfort?" she asked against his ear, her breath hot and lingering against his skin.

She could just faintly make out the outline of the Eiffel Tower through the gaps between the tree limbs and blue-gray slate rooftops. Its lights twinkled against the darkness of the Parisian night. She had heard that during the occupation, it remained dark because of blackouts and bombings. The occasional paper published by the resistance left behind in the sewers and the rats made sure she stayed up to date on the happenings despite not clambering out of the dark, wet tunnels until the fall.

"I have been alive for six centuries. I can change my mind overnight if I so wish," she snapped, head turning slightly at the younger vampire's words, her attention finally breaking from the skyline. She looked at Claudia, irritation bubbling in her chest, before taking a deep breath so that the annoyance would fizzle out as quickly as it surfaced.

A sigh, almost filled with regret because of her tone, escaped her lips. Claudia remained forever frozen in adolescence, something she was sure that the girl would not soon forget. Constance remembered that age all too well. She imagined the convent was at its wits' end with her by the time she decided to run away. All she had done was test the sisters' boundaries and treat their conversations as a challenge of sorts. Whereas she eventually grew out of such behavior, Claudia had not been given that chance.

Spindly legs uncrossed and stretched out into the pathway, the tip of her shoe greeting a rat that darted across the cobblestones. She nudged its cheek gently, and with the same casual affection one might reserve for a household pet. Rather than bolting, the creature lingered, whiskers twitching as it chittered.

"I have learned some additional details," Constance answered, her tone considerably calmer than before, though her words were now more cryptic. The edge that had previously sharpened her voice had dulled and been replaced by certainty. Her gaze lingered briefly on the rat as it slipped between her feet, its paws clicking against stone before disappearing beneath a heap of garbage spilling into a neighboring alleyway. She watched it flee, possibly a moment longer than necessary, before returning her attention to the younger vampire.

"Be careful with your... friends."

cyb lestat is friends with this guy

God forbid a man try to change it up every few decades ( the mustache was a peel-and-stick from a Halloween store ). He's just trying to find his true, authentic self.

"Your voice carries," she answered, her subtle way of saying it is your fault I heard you. Her words remained surprisingly delicate as she fought to preserve her guise of being his sweet betrothed, despite his own facade having just been ruined. If he were observant, he might have caught the faintest of twitches at the corner of her mouth as she worked to mask her annoyance.

Meekness physically pained her. Ever since taking control of Searchlight when her father and brother left to fight the Young Wolf's war, she had grown accustomed to doing what she wanted without little concern. Now, she was to shrink herself again. This time, it was out of deliberation to make herself seem less of a threat than being forced. Still, it reminded her too much of Leland and the years he spent trying to rein her in and guide her as though she were a wild horse. She did not want his guidance. She had always wanted to determine her own course, which she felt was truly free to do now that he had been so unfortunately killed at the Red Wedding. Even so, she had to be cautious with the company in her castle.

Her head tilted to the side, curious as a cat, as she tightened her light blue shawl around her shoulders, feigning a chill. Her eyes wandered from the raven-haired man to his crony, her gaze sharp and bright in the glow of the still-roaring hearth. Gods, how unslightly, she thought, unable to suppress the look of disgust that now painted her face. She only regarded him long enough to commit every unpleasant feature to her memory before dismissing him with a sluggish flick of her wrist, and to her surprise, he quickly shuffled out. She imagined he figured his lord could handle her. She would have one of her guards hunt him down before sunrise, though, whether they returned him with stumps in place of his hands or without his head attached was still undecided.

"Poisoning is quite boring, and a hunting accident is quite out of character for me," she sighed, slippered feet padding gently across the great hall's stony floors as she neared Ramsay with little fear. Most wives-to-be would be instantly fearful if they had just heard their betrothed conspiring to kill them. "I believe the rookery fall and the beeswax drowning were my favorite ideas you had."

"I, too, have been spending the better part of our engagement trying to figure out how to kill you," Lenora admitted, sliding herself into the empty chair beside him once the gap between them had disappeared. "It is nothing personal, of course. It simply seemed irresponsible not to, especially given the poor Lady Hornwood's passing... I fear my plans were not as original as yours, however." Efficient and certain were a different story. She looked up at him from her seat, a small smirk playing on her lips now. "I hope this does not completely spoil our engagement."

She was overwhelmed. Her senses now felt more aware than ever. There were too many smells and too many noises. Chatter from the port city's nightlife pounded in her skull, and the smell of a stew eaten in the room a few days ago lingered in her nostrils. She wanted it all gone. She liked it better out in the countryside, near where he took her. It had been quieter, more peaceful, especially before he had appeared.

"Outside?" she asked, practically flinching as soon as it left her lips. Esmae remembered how only hours ago, he had gotten angry at her for her one-word sentences. She would have to try again. "Can I... go outside?" A pause. "Please." She hoped that made him more agreeable. She wanted to get away from the city, maybe even from him, though she doubted that was a possible outcome for the night.

She was not hungry, though he would surely make sure she ate. A lesson he would most likely call it. The guilt from previous nights kept her stomach full, though. Petyr had forced her to stalk a drunk down an alleyway, but she, of course, hesitated. Though drunk, the man still had his wits about him to swing his bottle at Esmae's head and holler. If not for Petyr, she would have been discovered due to the commotion. He would not let her forget that as glass was picked out of her temple later that evening, blood still crusted on her lips. Despite it all, the possibility of the drunk having a family she took him from still gnawed at her.

Before Lenora was an untouched plate of food that had gone cold a long time ago, as her fingers curled tightly around the glass of wine before her. She resented Leland because she would never be able to taste wine again. Still, she drank out of habit. There was something still comforting about the motion of the glass to her lips, despite everything she swallowed tasting like ash.

Her body shifted when Jonah sneezed next to her, unfortunately spraying the table due to his refusal to cover his nose. Her frown deepened as the distant cousins and aunts began an echo of bless you. Disgusting. Instead of picking on her, Leland should have focused his attention on his brother.

Bored, her eyes began to wander, taking in the faces of relatives she could never remember the names of, and family friends clustered around her parents. They spoke low and fondly of Leland, acting as if they had known him well. They knew the face he wanted him to. He had always been good at wearing masks. Lenora would grant him that single compliment. He could play the golden boy and a dutiful friend easily, despite neither being close to his true self. He had fooled them all, even their parents.

Her gaze continued to wander, skimming over unfamiliar faces until it landed on two figures lingering near the edge of the room. She vaguely recognized the older one. He was clearly important, most likely a friend of her father's, though his name slipped away like the others. She watched him lean in close, murmuring something sharp and low into the ear of the younger man beside him. His son, Lenora guessed. She could see a faint resemblance, especially with the blueness of their eyes.

She attempted to listen, curiosity prickling, but she found herself unable to focus hard enough. Leland had been stingy with showing her how to use her abilities. Whatever the younger man said seemed to be dismissive or annoyed as he pulled away, pushing through the room with an air of irritation. Lenora carefully watched him go, and without fully meaning to, she found herself slipping away from the table. Jonah said something to her, but like always, it was ignored, along with all the condolences people offered her as she too pushed herself through.

She exhaled slowly, her breath trembling as it left her. She sat quietly, wrestling between honesty and self-preservation for what felt like the millionth time in her life. Telling too much would risk her appearing crazy, but too little would sound evasive and rehearsed. She studied his face, measuring Lucius' patience as she figured out what would be considered middleground. That would be enough to be believed, maybe understood, but not insane.

"From the beginning?" she echoed, the words hanging heavy in the air before she continued on. "When I was little, touching things would show me ... images. I didn't understand what they were at first, but I eventually realized they were memories." She folded in on herself in the chair, shoulders drawn tight, as though she were trying to disappear into the blue and white upholstery. "I told my parents because I wanted reassurance, like any girl would, to be told I was normal... They didn't."

Her jaw clenched as a dull pulsing thrum echoed in her ears, like drums muffled beneath water. Erin squeezed her eyes shut, letting the sound wash over her before banishing them with a small shake of her head. Her lips parted, daring to speak about the gut, but closed with hesitation. That was too much to share, at least for now.

"I learned to keep it to myself after," she whispered to Lucius. "It's safer that way."

Lenora's gaze lingered on him, sharp and calculated. The candlelight made her eyes look amber, fiery with life even, as she felt her chest tighten with a peculiar mix of pride and hunger. Even though they had yet to stand before the weirwood tree in the godswood, she could feel invisible threads tying them together.

Her fingers twitched with restlessness and the stubborn need to prove herself. Deliberately, she let one of her hands drift over the thick furs he wore, despite the roaring fire in the room. Her touch was teasing as she silently trailed her fingers over his chest in deliberate sweeps, gauging every subtle twitch. She noted that she was slightly taller than he, and a small, satisfied smile crept onto her face, and mischief lit up her eyes.

Finally, she pulled him closer, letting the warmth of his body press against her, heat radiating through the fur and clothing. Her kiss began feather-light, as her fingers slipped into the dark curls at the nape of his neck. With a soft tug, she drew him closer, deepening the kiss. She felt his nose pressing up against her cheek and his body's warmth enveloping her.

"Say it again," she commanded, once she had pulled from him. Her breath was hot and uneven as it mingled with his own, her chest heaving against the bodice of her gown.