#ghost nicolas

I followed his breath and movement with my music, articulating the emotions of his grief in sound. I followed the beating of his heart. I followed the truth of his soul - his pain, his longing. I wove every thread of him into my music.

As Lestat’s tears gave way to self-recrimination - oh, my Lestat, I know that burden well - I ceased following his emotions and sank into soothing music instead. Music from my soul, meant to soothe his, to keep him here, to remind him of his light. I tried to make my music proffer serenity to dwell deep within his soul. He was a tapestry, and through my music I tried to stitch temporary pain into eternal gold and sunlight.

Attuned to his breath, to his every feeling, I saw my music taking effect. Lestat began to calm, to breathe slower.  

And as Lestat’s pain ebbed into something more manageable, I felt a sudden, sharp urge in me to turn my music into the evocation of my own love, my own pain. I wanted to dig into the strings of my ghostly violin - to make my music soar and scream, to let the sound wail and cry and rage like my locked-away-soul, until Lestat could not deny the depth of my love.  I wanted to evoke my pain in unresolving dissonance.

I wanted to exist: just for an instant. Even now, I wanted to be seen, to be known. I wanted the universe entire to hear the scream of my soul.

Could anything ease my pain?

Did my form flicker back to how I had looked in death, as I tried to control my music? Keep it comforting. Only soothe his soul. It didn’t matter if it did flicker like that. He could not see me anyway. I would never let him see me. Even though I had chosen this rose and gold brocade coat as my ghostly garb, as it was what I had worn the first time we had met as adults. “Only the impossible can do the impossible,” I had said. I would do the impossible, for him - forever, if I could.

Music to keep him alive for all eternity. Music to keep him here, for Louis.  

Music to keep him here - as he could not have been there for me.

I let my music caress his skin as I would not let my touch. I let my music grow and swell and ebb and flow within his heart.

Lestat closed his eyes, drew his arms about himself, as if to comfort himself.