[sometimes armand thinks of cassandra and prophecy. melodramatic, he can all but hear daniel molloy scoff at him, his own personal shoulder devil sneering by his ear. still, there is a through line he can see after five hundred years of life. predictions he makes, warnings he offers, always ignored or cast aside. in paris, warning louis of what would inevitably come to pass. in dubai, warning both louis and daniel of what they prodded at with their absurd book.
armand remembers the real danger. not singular vampire, not uppity covens. he remembers amadeo, staring up at his maker so ancient and seemingly untouchable, being bombarded by cultist after cultist until he caught alight. there is the truth, it's numbers that they need to fear. the mob, like the santino and his ilk as they destroyed a vampire born before the death of christ, superior in every way and still lost.
it is why when the book comes out he finds himself back in dubai. daniel is taken care of for the moment, safer than louis, who mocks the writhing hive of the network. armand could leave it be, could attempt to grasp his hurt and petulance, spit 'i told you so' to louis' ashes but-
but he loves louis. daniel will not believe it, louis will not, but they are so young. they do not know what love truly is, the endless, horrific endurance of it. they do not know yet that eternity cannot keep grudges alive. they do not know that in another hundred year's time, another two hundred, three, that even claudia's singing ghost will fade between them.
the group is bolder than he expected. some are old but most are younger than louis, easy prey. the youngest go slack when armand comes through the window, minds pierced into a nearly lobotomized stupor as they fall groaning to the side. a hot, flaring anger pierces armand to see the ones still holding louis, one so close to his throat armand hisses and grabs the woman by the skull, ripping her back in a motion too quick for human eyes and tearing her head from her shoulders.
the remaining pair seem thrown, one still going for louis and the other scrambling to get to the window and away from the ancient creature all blood and teeth.]
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armand remembers the real danger. not singular vampire, not uppity covens. he remembers amadeo, staring up at his maker so ancient and seemingly untouchable, being bombarded by cultist after cultist until he caught alight. there is the truth, it's numbers that they need to fear. the mob, like the santino and his ilk as they destroyed a vampire born before the death of christ, superior in every way and still lost.
it is why when the book comes out he finds himself back in dubai. daniel is taken care of for the moment, safer than louis, who mocks the writhing hive of the network. armand could leave it be, could attempt to grasp his hurt and petulance, spit 'i told you so' to louis' ashes but-
but he loves louis. daniel will not believe it, louis will not, but they are so young. they do not know what love truly is, the endless, horrific endurance of it. they do not know yet that eternity cannot keep grudges alive. they do not know that in another hundred year's time, another two hundred, three, that even claudia's singing ghost will fade between them.
the group is bolder than he expected. some are old but most are younger than louis, easy prey. the youngest go slack when armand comes through the window, minds pierced into a nearly lobotomized stupor as they fall groaning to the side. a hot, flaring anger pierces armand to see the ones still holding louis, one so close to his throat armand hisses and grabs the woman by the skull, ripping her back in a motion too quick for human eyes and tearing her head from her shoulders.
the remaining pair seem thrown, one still going for louis and the other scrambling to get to the window and away from the ancient creature all blood and teeth.]