𝔏𝔢𝔰𝔱𝔞𝔱 𝔇𝔢 𝔏𝔦𝔬𝔫𝔠𝔬𝔲𝔯𝔱

-- being seen on a billboard and advertising for everyone to see. The voices. The honking and late night rush. Yes, they were finally there.•

-- distinguish her from an ordinary mortal. Always smelling like sin and seduction, like a sweet death in disguise.

And so... About an hour later, well past midnight, they arrived.
Streetlights more vibrant than anything they have seen in America and Europe. The constant battle between --

-- in crime for once? Can they resist this god forbidden thirst and embrace knowledge and music, love and art, K-pop and awkward wending machines? Can they really, at last?

Pandora, as per usual, all dolled up in he latest fashion of modern age. Hell, unlike him, nothing would --

-- survive this ordeal of sushi and ramen without the doomed hunger for blood?"

• He said. Checking on his handkerchief and fixing his collar. After all, one must be preserved at its finest when arriving to a thriving cultural shock on steroids.

But can she? Can this hunger be their partner --

-- like every other to come, was theirs. Determined to do whatever it takes to stay unnoticed by mortal sight.•

"Darling, I hope you don't mind me asking ... "
• Lestat spoke, waiting for their private ride to drop them off at the most southern part of the crowded city. •

"... can we --

Chapter 52 - South Korea (modern age)

•Humidity ruled the streets of Seoul for the past couple of weeks. Temperatures high during daytime just like the expectations of the monsieur in lace and silk and his eternal companion @scarredeternal.bsky.social.
After nearly two centuries, this moment, --

+ continent for that matter. He had to find home. In Paris. In Prague. In Den Hague. In Mexico. In Indonesia. In Whereverland that is until his eternal being finally finds peace. •

+ Gabrielle he never really stopped yeaping over. In his eternal soul, there was always this emptiness that no other woman could fulfill nor erase with her presence, an emptiness so deep and through flesh till bone painful. It was time. Another journey. Another city. And maybe yet another+

+ purchased from a streetwender and opened it. Inside, two books, the Bible and Adventures of Huckleberry Fin by Mark Twain. Perhaps, the boy in the undead garson lived within the covers?
He smirked. Placing a pair of silk gloves onto the books and a strand of pearls belonging to his late mother +

+ than existing and learning, learning and passing on, and eventually... yes, eventually... vanishing amongst the dust.

• A loud thunder interrupted his cussing followed right after a sharp vivid lightning. He turned away from the window, slowly pacing towards his mahogany teakwood suitcase he +

+ even after everything he has witnessed and endured so far.

He does have a story inside of him; it lies articulate and waiting to be written — behind his silence and his suffering.•

"Good damnit, you old rat..."

• He scolded himself •

"Can't you see that there's nothing more to this life +

+ every decision he made so far. Perhaps, decades and decades of a everlasting soul have left him unaware of how little it takes to feel so empty and abandoned like a little orpaned child looking for the comfort of its mother's embrace and yet he could not find it in himself to be that little child+

• Heavy rain was washing the off the heated asphalt of New York. This summer, unlike any other in over a hundred years of his existence amongst the undead, has left the monsieur in silk and leather yearn for something familiar, something ... close to home.

He frowned, thinking, reconsidering +

@drusillasdolly.bsky.social You're a goddess, you know that?