August 13, 1803

I write these papers late in the night. I have thought of saving them when I am done, of keeping them as Louis keeps the things that he jots down in his journal, but perhaps not. Perhaps I shall burn them on the morrow, watch the papers and the words blossom in the red flames and slowly be devoured. Louis would say something pretty about it, that the words were freed by the fire, but all I can see is the blackened ashes. There is something symbolic about that, as well, I think.

 My gentlemen fathers quarrelled tonight. I could hear them in the foyer, though they tried to keep their voices low. At one point Lestat's voice raised above Louis', sharp and angry, accusing him of being ungrateful, of being sullen and stubborn to such a point that it would drive Lestat insane. He dared Louis to leave, to find his way on his own, to survive without us. I felt a chill at hearing that. I can't imagine this house without the both of them. But Louis did not respond to the words, just admonished Lestat to keep his voice down, to 'be quiet, or you will wake her! Do you want her to hear us like this?'

 Lestat taunted Louis for taking refuge behind the excuse of a child, but he lowered his voice so that I could only barely hear him. The rest of the argument was conducted in hushed and strained whispers and before long I heard the door slam and Lestat's steps on the stairs as he went out. The only sound in the house was the periodic creak in the floorboards as Louis paced. When I heard his steps approach my room I quickly laid down on my bed, closing my eyes and feigning sleep. He opened the door silently and stood for a long time in the doorway, just watching me. By slitting my eyelids a little I could see him, see the solemn and distant look on his face. I longed to leap up and go to him, to have him take me in his arms and tell me it was all right. At the same time, I didn't want him to know that I had overheard that argument, I knew it would make him worry. So I stayed where I was, breathing slowly, and finally he left, closing the door quietly behind him.

 Louis is not happy, I think. I don't like to see him like that, but I don't know what to do about it other then just be there for him. I have to hope that it will be enough. If he were to leave I do not know what I would do.

September 1, 1808

 It was my nineteenth birthday today. I don't really understand the concept of 'birthdays' but my fathers make much of it and the first day of September is always the one day when I can ask for anything and be assured of getting it. I asked Lestat once why he and Louis don't have 'birthdays', so that I might have a day to get them presents as they get me. Lestat just laughed, reaching down to straighten the ribbon in my hair. 'When you are as old as Louis and I, ma cherie,' he said, 'counting the years go by isn't as much fun anymore. Grownups generally don't have birthdays, we just pick an age and stay there.' I asked him when I might pick an age and remain that always, for it seems to me that nineteen is a goodly number. This seemed to be hysterically funny to Lestat, for he laughed so hard that the blood tears came to his eyes and he had to wipe them away with his handkerchief and catch his breath before he could tell me that perhaps I should ask Louis, instead. They do that frequently, when they don't wish to answer my questions. Lestat will tell me to ask Louis and Louis will look hurt and upset and tell me to ask Lestat. I could run back and forth between the pair of them all night and never get an answer, so I desisted and let Lestat change the subject.

 There was a new dress waiting for me when I awoke tonight, a present from Lestat. It was a beautiful thing of pale blue silk with the finest white lace trim and seed pearls, with a satin sash of a shade that exactly matched my eyes and a matching ribbon for my hair. When I went into the foyer more presents awaited me, from both of my gentlemen fathers. Louis handed me a package that, when unwrapped, revealed a selection of books which I had been wanting. I hugged him and thanked him, declaring how happy I was with the gift. Lestat, of course, gave me a new doll. The one from the year before was broken, I had dashed it against the wall in a fit of temper and quite broken the delicate porcelain limbs. So here was the replacement, with curling cornsilk hair and a carefully tinted face, it's dress a perfect miniature of the one I wore now. It pleased me, in a way, as they always do when I first get them. I forget them soon enough and break them all, sooner or later, but it was momentarily pleasing to see this replica of myself in porcelain and satin and to think, for a moment, that this was the way I appeared to the word, so beautiful and delicate, a thing to be treasured. It is a type of vanity, I think.

 This year, the doll had a beautiful golden necklace wound twice about it's neck, a gleaming blue stone set into filigree gold hanging upon it's breast. With a flourish Lestat released the clasp and unwound the necklace, revealing it to be the perfect size for my own neck. I clapped my hands in delight, quite forgetting the doll. It was a woman's necklace, with that great sapphire and the little diamonds that twinkled amidst the filigree. Lestat placed it around my neck, working the clasp as I held my hair aside. The moment he was done I had to dash to the mirror, arranging it against my throat, turning this way and that to see the way it gleamed in the light. Lestat was pleased with my reaction.

 And then Lestat announced that we were to go to the theatre, that I had told him that I wished to go on this day. I had, of course, but I didn't think he remembered. So off we went in our best, me in a new coat edged in the softest white fur to ward off the chill of the autumn air. Even Louis seemed in a jovial mood, a smile touching his lips.

 When we took our box in the balcony of the theatre I went to sit at the edge, sitting up on my knees on the cushions in order to see over the railing better. During the actual performance I would sit on Louis' lap but for the moment I just wanted to watch the other people. There were so many of them! It always amazed me. But one young woman in a nearby box caught my attention.

 She had soft brown hair that curled prettily about her sweet face and she was dressed in a satin gown of a sort of sea green colour. An older couple, probably her parents, accompanied her. But it wasn't that which caught my attention.

 At her ears and upon her fingers and dainty little wrists were delicate gold rings with tiny little flashing sapphires. They didn't really match the aqua of her dress, being a deeper blue, but they were very beautiful and I fancied that they would match my own necklace rather well, and suit me better then that non-descript girl. Why, there was nothing at all special about her, even her eyes were a muddy brown. It was like draping gold strands about a chunk of common brick, when it could have been gracing fine marble. Lestat is fond of saying that if I have one fault it must be that of vanity and I will freely admit it.

 Lestat touched my shoulder, bending down to breath lightly in my ear, 'What do you see, ma petite?'

 I pointed to the girl and heard his chuckle in my ear. He knew, instantly, what I meant, without me having to explain. 'Those would look much better on you,' he said. 'Perhaps the young lady can be convinced to... sell them.'

 I smiled up at him, a radiant expression. But the show was starting and Louis lifted me up to his lap where I might sit, nestled against his chest, his arms about me as we watched the show. It was a drama, a new one, brought over from France. I enjoyed the music.

 During the intermission Lestat slipped out of our box and I watched, knowing where he was headed. Indeed, I saw him only moments later, entering the girl's box and bowing politely to her parents. Oh, he could charm, my father could! Within minutes he had gained the parent's complete trust and the girl was positively enraptured that such a handsome and well mannered young man would come to pay her suite. He stayed there during the second half of the performance, dazzling them with his charm and sophistication. When the show was over I drew Louis after me, saying that we might leave, that Lestat should meet us later. I saw his face darken and I hurried on, asking him in my prettiest way to escort me, saying that I was hungry, that I was positively famished, couldn't we go now? Lestat would meet us at home, he always did.

 Louis softened with my pleas and agreed. In the front of the theatre, amidst the lingering crowds of theatre patrons, I kissed him hurriedly and asked him to meet me in an hour, could he do that? He nodded and I slipped away from him into the crowd. It did not take me long to find an older couple, resplendent in their evening wear, who made much of me and exclaimed how much I resembled their newest granddaughter and of course they should help me find my mother, that it was a shame to be separated from her in such a crowd, what was she thinking to have left me like that? I smiled bravely and thanked them, suggesting that maybe mother had gone home, thinking I had returned there. It wasn't far, but it was dark and I didn't like to walk alone, would they accompany me, please? They agreed, of course, and it was easily managed to lead them away, away from the crowds and the lights. Even easier to slip on the sidewalk, being careful of my new dress, and then cry and sob, protesting that I had twisted my ankle, and oh, it hurt, I couldn't walk, I just couldn't. The man offered to carry me but the woman rounded on him, of course he couldn't pick me up, what if I was seriously hurt, what if he hurt me more?

 So, in the end, he agreed to go to the address I gave him, to get my mother as quickly as he could and return with her, mother would know what to do, surely. And when he left the kindly old woman sat down next to me, unmindful of her finery, her arm about my shoulder, soothing my supposed tears. It was so easy that I could have laughed. And, of course, when the man returned, unable to find anyone home at the address I had given him, he found me in a panic. She had just collapsed suddenly, she had said something about her chest hurting, I didn't think she was breathing, oh, what was wrong? And as he dropped to his wife's side in a fine state of fear I took him and left the two of them, obvious, wasn't it? She had slipped on the curb as her heart had convulsed and he, in sudden panic, no stronger then his wife, had suffered a collapse as he tried to revive her. A pity no one was with them to help them.

 I met Louis back at the theatre, flushed and alive with the warmth that poured through me. He straightened my sash for me and retied my bow, swinging me up in his arms as we walked home. Lestat was waiting for us in the foyer, lounging upon a chair, a broad smile on his face. I ran to him and he held up the delicate sapphire jewellery, a perfect twin to the necklace he had given me earlier. 'Happy birthday, Claudia,' he said. I hugged him and let him place the rings on my fingers, slide the bracelets onto my wrists, gently slip the earrings onto my ears. The feel of them there, dangling against my neck with every motion of my head, was simply scandalous. I loved it. Even Louis, though he disapproved, had to smile at the sight of me in all of that beautiful jewellery.

 I think I must have the best fathers in all of the world!

February 9, 1821

 Tonight, Satan has places his hands upon me and damned me to hell.

 Oh, how my gentlemen fathers would react if I were to tell them! Lestat would laugh as he always does, he could say that we are already damned, that we are the devils of the world. Louis would only say quietly that we must be damned for the evils we commit. How often have I heard these oft repeated words in my lifetime, how often have I taken them for granted? But they meant nothing, nothing at all. I have listened, but never understood. How can evil done to a human damn us, when we are not humans ourselves? How can we be devils when there is no God in heaven and no Satan in hell? How can we be anything but what we are, vampires, hunters?

 But it is all changed. We are devils, we must be, for I have seen Satan and he has shown me hell.

 And the name of the flames of hell is need.

 And I have need, I need with greater strength then the thirst, with more pain then the fiercest hunger. My pen flies over these pages with a speed that only we could manage, each letter flaming with the need that pours from me, from every fibre of my being.

 I have eaten from the tree of knowledge. I have left behind the innocence of the childhood I now know I never had and I have entered into the damnation of knowledge.

 I must start at the beginning. I must order my thoughts, no matter how much they fly from my control, I must record them here in a coherent form. Above all, I must not forget this. I must not wake tomorrow to believe this a dream. I must not let them tell me that it is naught but a nightmare.

 It began so simply. Lestat left the Rue Royale early, to visit a mortal woman, a minor actress, for whom he has recently developed a passion. She truly has a remarkable voice, though she has been beset by a waning weakness recently that limits her time on stage. When I queried Lestat about it, half in jest, he laughed and said that he thought that she did not have long left on this earth, in truth, but if his presence comforted her then who was he to deny a dear friend's last wish? I laughed with him, though Louis, as always, looked upon Lestat's games with disdain. I stayed with him after Lestat left, sitting with him for a bit as he read. 'Come with me,' I asked. 'Come hunt with me, Louis.' I know what the answer will be but I always ask. It is a ritual between us.

 He declined, as he always does, and I went out on my own. I ran through the darkened streets with a freedom that pleased me, grateful for this time alone. More and more, I had come to treasure these moments, the solitary stalk and kill.

 In no time at all, through no real planning, I happened upon an elderly woman out strolling along the shops with a younger woman in tow. They were kind and nice, insisting upon escorting me home. 'But what are you doing out here all by yourself, ma petite?' the woman asked, concerned.

 I said something, I don't remember, one of the countless lies that I have used over the years, something about being left at a lesson and my mother being late to come and get me. The woman scolded me gently for having not just waited as I ought. We strolled along in the spring night, the two women making much of me. I played the innocent for them and they were spellbound. 'Such an enchanting little girl,' the older woman said, 'such a beautiful child.' I pasted a smile in place over my lips, though I have recently taken a loathing to those words.

 She placed a hand lightly on my hair. 'And such lovely curls, Jeanette, why she looks just as you did at that age.' The younger woman smiled indulgently at her ageing mother. 'You're mother is lucky to have you,' the mother told me. 'You never realize how precious children are when they're young. But then they grow up and you wonder where all of the time went. Why, Jeanette here is my youngest, and she is twenty-five! Twenty-five, imagine that, all grown up and married. But I can remember her at your age just as though it were yesterday.'

 I didn't realize I had stopped walking until they paused, puzzled by my sudden stillness. I couldn't move. The woman's voice seemed to echo horribly in my ears, over and over, without end. It was as though I were hearing all of the words for the first time and they would not come together, they would not form phrases that I could understand. I knew I was standing, a look of perfect amazement on my face, but I couldn't make myself move.

 And when the younger woman knelt down beside me, I stared at her in absolute horror.

 Twenty-five. Less then six months before I had celebrated my twenty- fifth birthday, a custom my beloved fathers refused to give up. I hadn't thought about it at the time, it meant nothing. But now the meaning of it suddenly came crashing down upon me and took my breath away.

 Oh, but what was this woman saying? That this tall, curved creature was her daughter, that her daughter was twenty-five, that we were the same age? Impossible! Why, just look at us! Look at her! This woman creature, with her slim little waist and her curving hips, above long lengths of leg. Her face, with it's adult proportions, it tumbled curls of golden hair, just exactly like my own! And her body, dear God, I suddenly couldn't stop looking at her body, at her swelling breasts beneath the satin of her gown, at the long, slim flesh of her arms, her neck. I was looking at her neck, and I felt no hunger. I was measuring it against my own, comparing them, that stately length of muscle and bone and skin. So beautiful. So perfect. And it belonged to a creature of the same age as I was.

 I was backing away, my feet were moving, I couldn't stop them. I knew I looked a fright, my lips drawn back, teeth clenched over the moans that rose in my throat. I could see my fear reflected in their faces, these women, as they watched what they had thought a child miraculously transform before their eyes. I raised my hands to my ears, as though I would block the words that had made me suddenly aware, as though I could turn back time and unhear them. I was breathless, panicked, my heart pounding until I shook with the fear.

 And I knew. God help me, in that instant I understood what it was to have your life, your ambitions and hopes and dreams, snatched away. I knew what it was to die. I was looking at my most secret, unrealized dreams. I was looking at them in the form of a young woman, in the flush of her beauty. Until that moment I had not even known that I wanted, above all else, to be her. And then, in the moment I realized it, it was taken away, burnt in the immortal flames of hell. For I understood, then, that this was what I would never be.

 Jeanette came towards me, her arms outstretched as though she would gather me close, cradle me like a child. Her movement jolted me from my paralysis. I opened my lips, the pressure in my chest would not be denied, and a scream burst forth from me, from my soul. A scream for what I had lost, what I would never, ever have. It rose from me on black wings of hate into the night air and Jeanette screamed as well, her mother screamed, the symphony of our voices shrieking out to the heavens in a wail of pure misery. Jeanette stumbled back from my voice, falling to the ground, blood running from her ears and over the fingers she raised to them. I only dimly knew that I was the cause. I was crying out to the stars in my grief and pain and I had little knowledge or care for the tinkle of glass from the broken shop window nearest us, for Jeanette and her mother collapsed on the ground.

 Then, suddenly, I ran. I ran from that scene, from the knowledge, from myself. I leapt over their bodies and I ran into the night, the scream dwindling into choked sobbing as I struggled to breathe past this pressure in my chest. I ran without knowing where, only trying to escape I didn't know what.

 I don't know how long I ran, or how long I wandered after I could run no more. Eventually, I realized that my traitorous feet had lead me back to the Rue Royale, to the only place I knew to call home. I stood in the street and I stared at that house, at the darkened windows. It must have taken me an hour to climb that simple flight of stairs, to unlock the door and step inside.

 I have written this in haste, while I can. Lestat has returned now, I can hear him on the steps. And I shall hide this and comb out my hair and straighten my dress. I shall wash my face and put a pleasant expression on, and then I shall go to see him, to listen to him ramble about his doings on this night and bid him good sleep. And I shall not let him know, nor let Louis know, what has happened to me tonight. I shall not let them know of this revelation, not until I am sure. I must know how it was done, why it was done, but later. Now, above all, I must know how to deal with it, how to satisfy this need that can never be fulfilled, this fire that rages in me and cannot be quenched.

I am Claudia. I am a vampire. I am a twenty-five year old woman in a five year old child's body. And I shall be this way for the rest of eternity.

April 7, 1821

 It is begun.

 For weeks this need has grown in me, a dark and secret wound that festers in my heart. I thought I should burst with it that first night, that I should explode with the pressure of the grief and longing. I was wrong. And the next night it was stronger, even worse. And the night after, and the one after that, until I would run from the house without warning, unmindful of Louis' worry, Lestat's puzzlement. I simply couldn't bear it any more. I knew, I needed, and these, my gentlemen fathers, had not the slightest clue. Even killing brought me no pleasure, no surcease from the need. Over and over I would go out, only to find myself confronted by what seemed a veritable horde of these young, nubile creatures with the breasts and hips and height that I now know will never be mine. Seeing them would feed the need, until I ran from them in confusion and agony.

 Finally, it seemed some great bubble of hurt burst inside of me. God has forsaken me, I told myself, and the Devil cares little for his children. And so I am left to myself, I must remake myself if I am to live, I must begin again.

 I could not approach Lestat. Any gesture to him would be ended before it was ever begun, I knew. So I went to Louis, my beloved Louis, best loved of my fathers, my gentle, sensitive teacher. Surely he would understand. I went to him, let him take me in his lap as he used to; I leaned against him, put my arms around his neck, my head against his shoulder, my lips touching the skin above his collar. And in that instant I had another revelation, a sudden realization of the seductiveness of this, the sensuality of a grown woman of my age sitting upon a man's lap like this, pressing against him like this. I nearly gasped aloud. And the way we slept, dear God, I lay in his arms every day for all the years I could remember. Was there any intimacy greater then that? Was there any mortal woman who could claim a lover so attentive?

 Lover, yes, Louis was my lover. And suddenly I knew what I would ask of him, what I wanted to begin my transformation. I could not express why I wanted it, what part of the need it fulfilled, but it suddenly loomed in my thoughts and I blurted it out to him, thoughtless in my urgency.

 I saw him gasp, saw him shrink back as though he couldn't believe he had heard me correctly. 'Claudia,' he whispered, 'ma petite, what are you saying?'

 'I want my own coffin,' I heard myself repeating. I might have struck him with all of my strength across his face, that was the look of horror he gave me, the quickly controlled aghast horror. I repeated it again, strong, demanding. 'I want my own coffin, Louis.'

 It took him some moments to find his tongue. When he did it was only to say 'Yes, all right,' in a strangled tone that told me he did not understand, that he said it by reflex, not denying me my wishes. And suddenly he pushed me from him, thrusting me away. He rose and turned away from me, walking away, into his study. The door shut in my face.

 I had hurt him, I had hurt him deeply, I knew it. And I couldn't even explain to myself why I had done it. I had no idea why this need in me to become something I never physically could had suddenly crystallized into a need for my own bed, for my own space. And, thoughtlessly, I had hurt Louis. In a perfect agony of remorse and grief, but unable and unwilling to take back the words, I ran from the house.

 Louis came to me, found me, as I wandered the dark streets. I had thought and thought, I couldn't hurt him, I loved him too well, but I couldn't release this need either. It threatened my being, my very sanity. When I saw him there, standing there, I ran to him. I had to hold him, to clutch at him and never let him go. Words bubbled from me, confused and desperate. 'I don't want it if it hurt you,' I told him, and in one way I meant it. But at the same time, I could not live, now, without this thing, this first step. 'I'll stay with you always. But I must see it, don't you understand? A coffin for a child.'

 In the moment the words passed my lips I understood. Yes. A coffin for a child, that was what this was to be. A coffin for the child I was, so the the woman I was fast becoming could lay down in Louis' arms with a clear consciousness, lover with lover, not father with daughter. I could have laughed aloud with the understanding and I repeated my vow, that I would not leave him, that we should still sleep together, that I only wished to see this thing, couldn't he understand? And Louis consented, though I could see it still hurt him in a way I couldn't understand. I took him with me then, I wouldn't let him change his mind. Ebony and lace, I told him, and satin, white satin. I would have only the best for this coffin, for it would hold twenty- five years of my life, twenty-five years of ignorance.

 Lestat took me to pick up the completed coffin tonight. Louis will not look at it, cannot seem to walk into the room without wanting to pick me up, to carry me bodily away from it. I have reassured him. When dawn comes I will go to him, I will kiss his lips and lay in his arms, a woman with her lover. And tonight I sit before this exquisite creation, this coffin in miniature, and I study it. I study every line and angle, every eyelet of lace and polished inch of ebony. I sit before it and I place within it the memories, the childhood bliss of innocence. With every memory that I place within that coffin, with every day and year that I consign to the label of childhood and put away from me, I feel the need become more bearable.

 I shall remake myself. What nature has taken away from me I shall create. The mind shall rule the body, though the body remains forever unchanged. Soon I shall go to Louis and it shall be a woman who comes to his arms tonight, a woman who knows the significance of her actions. Not a child.

 I am done with the child. I shall be a woman, and then this need shall abate and I shall live in peace, as I did before. I have taken the first step already.

September 7, 1836

 They know. They don't understand, but they know. My forty-sixth birthday was a week ago. Louis gave me a book, which I wrote in for a bit to please him, then hid away and returned to these, my old pages. Lestat, as he has always done for all the years I can remember, presented me with a doll. And when I took it, feeling the need again, reminded of it by this child's toy, Lestat paused. He looked at me, really looked at me. 'You don't want them anymore, do you?' he asked.

 'Would you, if you were me?' I said. And, for a moment, I saw the understanding in his face.

 I placed the doll in the niche in the wall, along with the book. That one I will let be, for it marks the first time I have seen any type of understanding in Lestat. The others all of the countless others through the years, I have destroyed. I have smashed them and burnt them, but I always keep the little porcelain heads, sometimes cracked or shattered, but I keep them anyway. And I place these little heads with their cornsilk hair into the child coffin that sits in my room, I place them on the white satin. Twenty- five of them, twenty-five years since I placed childhood behind me, never to look back. And now, the twenty-sixth, and I think, perhaps, that there will be no more. Lestat will not give me another.

June 23, 1845

 I have dreamed. It is a disturbing dream and it comes to me in the early hours of dusk, as the sleep still lies heavy on my limbs and mind. This is what I have dreamed.

 In the dream I see a room, a suite of rooms, in a hotel perhaps. I'm not sure. I am there, and Louis, and Lestat. Lestat is holding me, he is combing my hair. I have no control in this dream, the words come to my mouth without warning or thought. Such strange words, I can't imagine saying them- 'Where is Mamma?' I ask, for all the world like a little mortal child. I cannot imagine why I am saying this in the dream, why my two fathers don't laugh aloud. And I repeat it, mindless and trapped within a set pattern that I cannot change. 'Where is Mamma?'

 'You're Mamma's left you with us,' the dream Lestat says. 'She wants you to be happy and she knows we can make you very happy.'

 There is a smell in the air, thick and intoxicating, beautiful. My dream self does not know it, only that she wants it desperately. In my own mind, I know it is blood, the spilled blood of mortals.

 'I want some more,' I demand, a child asking for candy. My real self feels the satiation of the blood that courses through me in this dream, knows that I am already full, but my child self in the dream knows only that the smell is delicious and she wants more.

 Lestat smiles indulgently at me, swinging me up in his arms. 'No, not tonight,' he says. 'Tomorrow night.'

 Louis stands before us and his face is anguished, distraught. I don't know what is upsetting him. Lestat looks at me, at Louis, a small, cold smile curving his lips. His voice is honey sweet, as it is when he taunts Louis. 'Now, Louis was going to leave us,' he tells me. 'He was going to go away. But now he's not. Because he wants to stay and take care of you and make you happy. You're not going, are you, Louis?'

 Louis' answer is a whisper, a savage, hateful whisper. 'You bastard! You fiend!'

 'Such language in front of your daughter,' Lestat chides, enjoying himself immensely. And my voice speaks again, my lips moving by rote. 'I'm not your daughter. I'm my mamma's daughter.'

 'No, dear, not anymore,' Lestat tells me. 'You're our daughter, Louis' daughter and my daughter, do you see? Now, whom should you sleep with? Louis or me?' His eyes are on me, kind and laughing, but the malice in his voice is entirely for Louis. 'Perhaps you should sleep with Louis. After all, when I'm tired I'm not so kind.'

 Sometimes I see other things after this, fading from one scene to another, in the manner of dreams. I hear Lestat and Louis arguing, arguing bitterly late into the night. I hear Lestat threaten me, 'A starving child is a terrible thing, a starving vampire worse! They would hear her screams in Paris if I locked her up!' and I see the reaction in Louis, the way he comes to me, protects me, hovers near me always. I am two people in these dreams, the woman and the child. The child does not understand, knows only love from her two fathers. But the woman sees, and understands. The threats, they are to bind Louis to us, they are never meant against me at all. And the first scene, the one I have dreamed again and again in recent years- it is no dream. I know this when I wake, I know it with crystal clarity. It is a memory, not a dream. A memory I had long since forgotten with the passage of time. The memory of the very young child that I once was, when the mind matched the body.

 And I understand. I am a pawn. I sit between them, my fathers, my lovers, my fiends. I sit between them and I draw the two of them to me, and hence to each other. I am the glue that binds us together, it is for that reason that I am here. I am the bait that kept Louis here, that entrapped and snared him all of these years. I am the cage. All unwitting, I have trapped us here, the perfect pawn in Lestat's plans. In the waking hours I curse the dream, I curse myself and I curse them. The entire world could crumble beneath my curses and still it would not begin to assuage my anger. A new resolve has come upon me. I will not be this toy. I am no one's tool, no one's slave. I will be free!

October 14, 1845

 He is the focus of all of this, of my entire life and being, of this family. I hear his dream voice in my ears every time I see him, I hear the mocking half threats, the malice and laughter. I cannot take my eyes from him, I must know what goes on behind those grey eyes, what takes place in his mind. 'Know thy enemy.' And so I watch him, I watch him whether he knows or not, I stare. I will not respond, but I watch, passive, absorbing all that he does, all that he says, observing him with an intensity that blocks out all else.

 It infuriates him, of course. Lestat can be hated, he can be despised, but God forbid that he be ignored! I delight to know that I can infuriate him so, simply by doing nothing. It is a type of petty revenge for the agony and confusion he has thrown me in. And, in the name of that revenge, in the knowledge that I must do this if I ever hope to free us, I watch him. I sit and I watch and I learn.

 He screams at me, yells, cajoles, pleads, and finally threatens. I barely hear the words, I am too engrossed in watching him, seeing the blood sweat on his forehead, the obvious little signs of distress, of anger, of desperation. He cannot bear to have me sit, staring at him, not speaking, not responding. Once, he flew at me, yelling that he would slap me, beat me, if only to get a response. I never moved. Louis, my protector, my beautiful dark angel, interposed himself between Lestat and me. He held Lestat back, daring his anger, protecting me as he has always done. Lestat was screaming about teaching me obedience and Louis was answering him, his own voice anguished, 'She's not a child, anymore, Lestat, you can't expect her to be! She's a woman now, I don't know what it is, you can't expect her to be the same forever!'

 Louis, my darling, beloved Louis. Never had he said it so blatantly, stated so clearly that he understood, that he knew. I loved him for it. And I knew, beyond self, beyond any need of mine, I would find a way to take him away from this. I would risk any lengths to give him the peace he desired, even if I had to shatter our peace to do it.