You intrigue me, you know. I wonder how it is that you say often, that my words resonate with you in a particularly touching way, when really as I sit here I'm not thinking them to be extraordinary in any way. I suppose you must be reading something in the tone of them, if that's possible through the screen, and believe me, I know it is. Whatever the reason, I'm pleased by the fact that they reach you as they do.

You will take pictures for me. I would enjoy that very much. I can be there, holding your hand. All you have to do is want it to be so, and imagine me into life there beside you. When no one is around, what would be the harm of a few whispered words to me? "Do you see it Lestat?" or some such thing, and then, in some intangible way, I will. -laughing softly- You know I'm terribly distracted as I write this, in a good way, so your wishes to me have proven fruitful. Keep them coming, won't you?

I don't have plans for Halloween, no. I think I am going to New Orleans, of course. I usually do. Costumes? Well no. Though I have some old apparel that would be fitting in that way, when all the mortals come out, dressed in antique finery. It's rather nothing special, because I can do such a good job of blending in among them at any other time, so come Halloween time, I don't have to dress in garb to pass as a common partier. I think the most fun I had was the year I dressed in black vinyl, you know, all "crow" like, complete with the makeup and all of that. I wasn't dressed precisely as the movie, you know, as the crow, but enough that people would come up to me and say, "Hey man, are you supposed to be the crow?" -laughs- Their curiosity was the perfect conversation starter, which as we all know, conversation can lead to other things. I know it did that night, and I was a glutton. Ah well, I'm not of the frame of mind to do such things this year. I will go and stroll through the Quarter, watching them on the balconies, shaking, shimmering and beautiful with the lights dancing in their eyes. One or two will never see the morning.

Of course I have dreams that seem real. Are they real in some capacity I wonder, and sometimes, they have been. I believe that whether a body is mortal or Immortal, such a thing as leaving the body in sleep, in some way we cannot name, is very possible. So have I had such dreams? Yes. A tip? Write them down when you wake up, and go back to them in a week or so. See if there was any degree of preface in them.

Well first off, you know it doesn't matter when I hear someone 'hates' me. We hate what we do not understand. We hate in others what we see and detest in ourselves. So it's their problem you see, not mine. To use the modern psychological vernacular, "I don't own the problem". Anyhow, the more people who say they hate me, the more it frees me to all of you who love me. There is more me left for all of you! Isn't that thrilling economics? And lastly, oh do let me tell you and your hateful little friend, that I could write a small ranting dissertation on the ways Mr. Green Eyes has hurt me over the years. Not least of all with the little Princess, do you recall it? I do.

So don't tell your friend that I'm 'cool'. Tell your friend I am a prick and an insensitive, self-centered brat. Then come back to me, if you decide you can tolerate those characteristics, and have as I said, more of me for yourself.

Well, Armand has given you a little pet name, how hard can he really be on you? I am much harder. I can be and often am cruel, so be glad you haven't really seen it yet. Lately I've been in quite the mood to unleash it.

You'll think of what to say to me in the nick of time. I have that faith. Otherwise, you wouldn't be here, would you?

Oh don't get me started, darling boy, or I may personally commission Fantine or one of our talented resident artists to draw you in such costume!

The café sounds wonderful. How about a night like this, mid fall, when the fog steals out of the twilight to move about the base of the old church? I think it would be something, me sitting across from you as I hold a cup of strong French blend coffee. I do love the way it smells, so biting, you could say.

You think of me in these ways, I know. Do you not think at times, Mr. Navarre, that I can feel you? There are times, with some here in this place, on this forum, more than others and you are one, but I venture to say that you already knew this. I sometimes catch sadness, or a look, or that inexplicable longing that I said (in my last post) I understood.

It would be something Aaron, if you could capture such a quiet interlude on canvas, but then I know you have far more than enough to do in that area already. Maybe some things are better kept to your mind. Wouldn't it make you smile though to have someone ask, "Who is that in the painting?" Yes, I know it would.

And Aaron? Don't worry that your prattling says little. In the end, it says you are here, and that is what matters to me.

You're new to me, and to all I've written? Hm, a virgin to the world of Lestat who comes in the name of my Louis. What should I do with her folks?

"Blood of Louis", is it? Are you then filled with all the things he is filled with, including my own blood? Does it mean I should hold you down, pierce you with my wicked little teeth and laugh as I'm drinking you to the point of pain?

You'll wish I would, I think. You'll wish that, and you'll love me and hate me and cry with me. You will hate others for things they let me endure, and then in the next, hate me for giving a generous dose of unnecessary bitterness. I will be as real as you let me be.

Read furiously, Cherie. You've much catching up to do.