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Come with me. Just listen to me. Don’t leave me alone.
Hell, I had not invented the significance of necks.
I wasn’t the ossified monster I thought I was. I wasn’t in danger of being inured to human suffering. I was a damned jibbering empath!
Just typical of me. To think in terms of Heaven on Earth, freshly painted in pastel hues, floored in fine stone, and centrally heated.
I mean, next to a vampire, what in the world is as dangerous to a lone woman as a young human male?
I pronounced my name carefully for her—Le- stät—primary stress on the second syllable, sounding the final “t” distinctly.
I was worn and miserable and I loved crying.
Do you know what I think about crying? I think some people have to learn to do it. But once you learn, once you know how to really cry, there’s nothing quite like it. I feel sorry for those who don’t know the trick. It’s like whistling or singing.
She hurried after me, eagerly, the way that vampires dream mortals will do it, which never, never happens, as if all this were wondrous and there was no reason under Heaven to be afraid.
In the name of the cross, more injustice has been perpetrated than for any other single cause or emblem or philosophy or creed on Earth.
“I will not be part of this, not for you, not for Him, not for them, not for anyone!”
But you see, if a vampire leaves out details like clothes, the story doesn’t make sense. Even the most grandiose mythic characters—if they are flesh and blood—do have to worry about the latchets on sandals.
