Yes, that wind has found me well, and in place. Lately it blows each night a fresh recollection of memories, but I'm finding that not to be a totally bad thing. In fact, if anything, it is making me look around me and hold more tightly to those I love and have brought into this world with me. Even Gabrielle, far off as she is, and unable to hear my thoughts, must know this to be true for I'm sure others I've been around convey to her such sentiments. So yes, for now life is good. Like many people however in some ways while I boldly and luxuriantly enjoy these times, I have one eye looking around for any indication that I am missing something, or that there is a drastic change on the horizon. There usually is you know, and though my sleep has been blissfully dreamless lately, I know she is out there somewhere, and her silence makes me wonder almost more than her ghostly appearances in my mind. If you ask what I speak of it is the girl who's name I do not yet know. More, if it evolves past her calling me, will be told on my site sooner or later.

My name reminds you of something? Shades of summer and innocence perhaps? Or would it be something more suitable, like the moonlight on a rain - slick street, dark and scary, but somehow inviting? Oh but how I go on. I'm in love with myself, how can I say otherwise? Not all the time though. There are times when all the weight of what my life in that dark and scary, inviting alleyway has been from that first night when I was swept away over the roofs of Paris to become this, to New Orleans, and my death and rebirth there, to the crowds of California, or New York. Funny how so much time passes, and yet, to me now, it seems like nothing and a thousand years in one breath.

Now I stray from your point en post. If it is conversation you seek Cherie, you will find it to be bountiful here in this growing home my technically oriented boy has created. I just didn't want to think that you were inferring by saying * Lestat * that I was any less than he. Such a thing might poke at my ego you know, even though I would just tell you or anyone else that they could believe what they wanted to believe, and leave me alone. So since you clarified that, I don't have to say such rude things. Well, poor Louis… Now he will have to bear the brunt of me thinking of antagonistic things to say. He's used to it though and he hardly minds me anymore. New playmates I need to find maybe? Ha. I should have my own dictionary. I doubt Webster's has the same idea on the meaning of that word as I do.

Anyhow, now that I am rambling, let me again welcome you here, and sometime soon we'll speak maybe.

Did I overlook you? You know Louis told me to make sure to check in that other thread, but then, if I always listened to Louis, I wouldn't be me, would I?

The mystery girl, yes, well as I said above, I haven't seen or had reason to mention her in some time. I should write what I can about her. I have to say it has been nice not to wake with the sunset, seeing her image in my mind. It's not that she's frightening to me, or hideous, no. She is ethereal, and like something otherworldly you could say. When I see her she is two young girls at once; On the one hand beautiful, with her hair shimmering gold as it blows back from her face, her young skin fresh and glowing as she speaks my name in a whisper. Then on the other hand she is crouched down in some dark, damp place, looking up at something. Is she looking at me? I don't know that but she is scared, and she wants out of whatever the situation is but she can't do it herself. She needs my help. Then why doesn't she come now? Why haven't I heard her? Have I mentally gone looking for her? No. Not yet. I had thought about asking David to help me in that he knows things in relation to spirits. Not that this girl is a spirit I think. She is alive, somewhere, or at least she was. I hope one way or the other to know soon what it's all about.

I would very much like to visit St. Patricks for long it has been since I've seen that immense beauty. It might be time for my ten-year confessional anyhow, right?

I will pass along about the galleries and the Met. I know we would love it, and perhaps at least I will stay longer. I don't think I can hold Louis away from the fetid summer heat of New Orleans for long. Let him have it with the garbage and the smell of various steaming expulsions. I would rather have the bustling nightlife of the North. Let the picture then be you and I stalking around New York in mid summer. Let it be a date, and once more you can feel my embrace and the coolness of a kiss. Once more you can see me laying in your bed, like some spoiled gigolo as you come over to me. I can imagine it all you know. Indeed I can. So let us make it a reality.

It is sad to hear of your ordeal. I can almost see the tightness come to your face as you relate such a thing, but dear girl, I never said to you that you didn't or weren't capable of understanding pain, or coming to terms with it in the 'big picture'. Of course you are. All mortals are, well, most of them anyhow. Mortals absorb pain and allow it to shape them and even in some cases as it may be with you, to strengthen them. Don't you think that is what makes them so beautiful? Think of my Louis. Do you imagine that I would have been half as in love with him as I was, and given him this life if not for his pain? His is a human pain that he held onto for so long even into this life, as I'm sure you've read of by now. And Nicolas? Did I not give him this life also when I witnessed his suffering, which by then with all he'd seen and endured had him near the point of madness? How I saw those visions as I drank from him, understanding as that horrid bird soared above all that was lost, how I knew his despair, and my own loss. How in those moments I wanted him with me, and yet I would have gladly taken him, Gabrielle and myself straight into the complete dark oblivion of mortal death if I'd had the power to do so in that moment. Oh Cherie, I understand the beauty of mortal pain all too well.

Pain is the great equalizer. I've felt it as you have, as Armand has as the street person has. Though immortality raises the level of its intensity, it no less is pain, heartache and torment. What incident to some 14 year old might seem like the be all and end all pain, to us may be nothing, and what to us might seem like enough to cast us onto the Sea of Whispers, to that same youth is incomprehensible. Now that I've gone on about such matters, let me define my earlier statements to you, though you know usually I wouldn't stop to rehash my own words. What I said was:

As much as it is nice to come and see such words as this, you and the others baring necks to me and offering the sweetness of a drink at my leisure, I can assure you that it is nothing like the real thing for me, nor is it anything like what it would be for you. You 'dream always' of my embrace? What is it you dream, my curious Athena, with the name of the Goddess? Do you dream then of my lips close to your flesh, the uncontrollable urge in me, rising into a low growl before I take that offered drink? Dream carefully Cherie, for often, when I do give into such things I am not kind. Seduction can be a waste of time when the flesh and blood is ripe within my reach. Still, there is much to be said for the game, so long as both parties are willing to play. The question is then, do you understand the rules of the game, and the odds, when in fact they constantly change in my hands.