🌞 HAPPY FIRST LELISTAT ANNIVERSARY 🌛

The wind carried the faint murmur of music from the ballroom. Far off, in a secluded corner of the vast garden, sprawled beside bushes heavy with moonflowers, Lestat rested, idly playing with a lock of Lelio’s hair.

"It’s been a year..." he said, as if that single phrase, tossed randomly into the silence, carried any meaning at all.

"Hmm?" Lelio, accustomed to both his long diatribes and his spontaneous outbursts, merely looked up slightly, letting her confusion show so that he would continue talking—just as he loved to do.

Lestat loved being heard; he lived within a stage play. To him, the world was nothing more than his scenery, and Lelio was the perfect spectator for his one-man performance.

"It’s been a year since we met..."

"A year?"

"Ah... yes, exactly a year! One would think you’d remember. Or are you telling me it wasn’t a life-altering event for you as well, ma petite nuit?"

"Hahaha, how dramatic! That’s not what I’m saying..." she laughed. "It’s just... it surprises me that you of all people remember. Isn't time blurry and inconsequential when you’ve lived so many years?"

"God! I knew you wouldn't let that movie go. 'Time is an abyss, profound as a thousand nights,' right? Hahaha! You almost sound like a creature yourself. I must tell you, in all my years, I have never seen a single vampire who looks like Count Orlok. Don't be so melancholy, Lelio. One does what must be done when one is alive... Live! Time doesn't matter, even in a human and ephemeral life like yours."

"You’re right, but... every now and then, one finds someone who can give meaning to those years. I am fortunate... in these two hundred years, I’ve met at least a handful of them. Including you, of course," he concluded his eloquent monologue as if everything had been said and there was no doubt his word was the absolute truth. He returned his silent attention once more to Lelio’s dark tresses, and she let out a deep, calm sigh, nesting a little closer against his chest.

"I remember when I first saw you, 'There Must Be an Angel' was playing. When you stood there and looked at me... I hadn't really seen your face yet. I was too busy mentally judging your musical choices while I rang you up, making unsolicited suggestions. Then you asked me about the book I had on the counter—the one by Louis... Right, I remember looking up exactly as the chorus started... 'Must be talking to an angel, must be talking to an angel...'”

She hummed the song. She remembered it—remembered it as if she were living it at that very moment. It was a film that played constantly in her mind at the most unexpected times: while walking through a silent park in the morning, while running to fulfill whatever whim Lestat had, even when squeezed against the subway doors on her way somewhere. The thought of that first encounter would ambush her, leaving her oblivious to everything else. It had to be Lestat’s power, of course... even as a spontaneous flashback, it paraded confidently, demanding total attention like the master of her mind.

"Go on..." He didn’t even have to look at her; she could tell by the tone of his voice that he was smirking. She sighed.

"It felt like something out of a movie. You were talking, and the mediocre lighting of the shop—which had been flickering for God knows how long—decided to illuminate you at the perfect angle. The speakers conspired with the tape deck to play the chorus of that song... even now, when I think about it, it seems hilarious how dramatic it all felt. The only thing I could think was, 'He really is an angel.'"

"HAHAHA! EN-CHANT-ING! I’ve been called many things; 'angel' is certainly rare, but very much appreciated, my dear." The joy Lelio’s words brought him bubbled out of Lestat like water from a fountain. If he were an animal, he would be a proud peacock strutting with colorful feathers. He agreed—there was no need for modesty. When he thought back to that moment, he hadn't focused much on his own appearance; it wasn't what he remembered most vividly... but yes, he was sure he looked divine.

Like everyone else, Lestat loved hearing about himself. Perhaps even more than others. He delighted in Lelio’s narration, which stroked his ego as softly as only he himself could.

"Pff! Whatever... I just felt... I felt like I wanted to look at you forever. That I wanted to hear anything you had to say. The more I know of you, the more I need. Your light blinded me; I felt like a moth flying toward a lamp. I wanted to be part of you, of all your knowledge and momentum... to be in your hands, another marionette in Prince Lestat’s theater. It just seemed logical, as if that were the fate awaiting me. And you quickly ruined the rest of the world for me. Hahaha! You became almost a unit of measurement, Lestat... if someone can’t be at least a quarter as magnificent as you are, they’re a waste of time."

As she spoke, her gaze was lost on the horizon, watching the people in the great hall dancing and laughing happily. The rhythmic movement of the crowd, like ocean waves, helped her organize her thoughts. She wanted to be clear. It wasn't unusual for her to speak incessantly when she was passionate about something; words were never enough to describe her feelings.

"Aren’t you adorable? Hahaha! That alone made this boring party entirely worth it. I’m going to quote you in my next book—with certain creative liberties, of course."

"Boring?! Hahaha... Lestat, it’s your party."

"Ah, did I not tell you? It’s for you. I’ve had more than enough lavish parties and gala balls... BUT YOU! You wouldn't stop saying, 'Lestat, tell me about the balls,' 'Lestat, what was your gala suit like?' 'Lestat, a dress like that would have been so lovely.' I knew you weren’t going to stop. And besides, to be honest, the dress I chose for you is much better."

Lelio wrapped Lestat in a tight hug. The blush on her face could be seen from miles away, and small tears of joy stung the corners of her eyes. The sound of Lestat’s laughter filled the silence of the garden, just as it had filled everything else. Lestat is like that, she thought. Like the sun—he reaches every corner, filling them with his light, warm and comforting.

🎨 Jarintzi Tarelo García