this particular letter had sat with armand the longest. both in writing & in delivering. it came in sputtering half-truths, pretty things called across a marble floor in desperation made their way into the original draft, had to be scrapped. it had almost gone undelivered, once honesty arrived. none the wiser in ohio, if he let it collect dust & leave the name-calling bitterness to daniel & lestat alone. the crumbling residue of nearby construction nearly turns him on his heel, visions of too-soon remembered violence ( a crumpled frame in dubai ) sounding a steady siren. it isn’t too late, the slow rubbing of thumb ‘gainst knuckle reminds, a red EXIT sign lauds the same.
instead, he sits, teeth working at the skin inside his cheek. there are five things he can see: a balloon boasting I LOVE NY, gauche wallpaper, a teeming, tropical fish tank, his own snakeskin suitcase, the wrinkled & perfumed letter, folded neatly in his lap. the vampire continues down this sensory nightmare, only concluding just before he reaches the singular taste: bile. finally the sight of @santriste brings him to his feet.
❝ i — have been enduring intense conversations with myself. & . . . as part of that journey — ❞ the now well worn introduction, armand ever committed to a rehearsal. slender fingers gestures weakly to his letter, now lay flat on the cushion below. fanciful penmanship inks across a stack of many pages. ❝ i had intended to read this aloud, as is its purpose. though, i can leave it with the desk. ❞ uncertainty hollows his eyes into wide, amber pools, darting between the lobby floor & louis. two death bells already rung on the attempt to lay apology bare; he’s prepared to get ahead of the fallout.
