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dence of my Satanic surgery as it turned her to a monument in ash。 No evidence remained of her last hours within the torture chamber of my makeshift laboratory。 No one need ever have known what I say now。
For many a year； she haunted me。 I could not strike from my mind the faltering image of her girlish head and tumbling curls fixed awkwardly with gross black stitching to the flailing； faltering and falling body of a female vampire whose discarded head I'd thrown into the fire。
Ah； what a grand disaster was that； the child…headed monster woman unable to speak； dancing in a frenetic circle； the blood gurgling from her shuddering mouth； her eyes rolling； arms flapping like the broken bones of invisible wings。
It was a truth I vowed to conceal forever from Louis de Pointe du Lac and all whoever questioned me。 Better let them think that I had condemned her without trying to effect her escape； both from the vampires of the theatre and from the wretched dilemma of her small； enticing； flat…chested and silken…skinned angelic form。
She was not fit for deliverance after the failure of my butchery； she was as a prisoner subjected to the cruelty of the rack who can only smile bitterly and dreamily as she is led； torn and miserable； to the final horror of the stake。 She was as a hopeless patient； in the reeking antiseptic death cubicle of a modern hospital； freed at last from the hands of youthful and overzealous doctors； to give up the ghost on a white pillow alone。
Enough。 I won't relive it。
I will not。
I never loved her。 I didn't know how。
I carried out my schemes in chilling detachment and with fiendish pragmatism。 Being condemned and therefore being nothing and no one； she was a perfect specimen for my whim。 That was the horror of it； the secret horror which eclipsed any faith I might have pleaded later in the high…blown courage of my experiments。 And so the secret remained with me； with Armand； who had witnessed centuries of unspeakable and refined cruelties； a story unfit for the tender ears of a desperate Louis； who could never have borne such descriptions of her degradation or suffering； and who did not truly； in his soul； survive her death； cruel as it was。
As for the others； my stupid cynical flock； who listened so lasciviously at my door to the screaming； who maybe guessed the extent of my failed wizardry； those vampires died by Louis's hand。
Indeed the entire theatre paid for his grief and his rage； and justly so perhaps。
I can make no judgment。
I did not love those decadent and cynical French mummers。 Those I had loved； and those who I could love； were； save for Louis de Pointe du Lac； utterly beyond my grasp。
I must have Louis； that was my injunction。 I knew no other。 So I did not interfere when Louis incinerated the Coven and the infamous theatre； striking； at the risk of his own life； with flame and scythe at the very hour of dawn。
Why did he e away with me afterwards？
Why did he not abhor the one whom he blamed for Claudia's death？ 〃You were their leader； you could have stopped them。〃 He did say those words to me。
Why did we wander for so many years together； drifting like elegant phantoms in our lace and velvet cerements into the garish electric lights and electronic noise of the modern age？
He remained with me because he had to do it。 It was the only way that he could go on existing； and for death he has never had the courage； and never will。
And so he endured after the loss of Claudia； just as I had endured through the dungeon centuries； and through the years of tawdry boulevard spectacle； but in time he did learn to be alone。
Louis； my panion； dried up of his own free will； rather like a beautiful rose skillfully dehydrated in sand so that it retains its proportions； nay； even its fragrance and even its tint。 For all the blood he drank； he himself became dry； heartless； a stranger to himself and tome。
Understanding all too well the limits of my warped spirit； he forgot me long before he dismissed me； but I too had learnt from him。
For a short time； in awe of the world and confused by it； I too went on alone…perhaps for the first time really and truly alone。
But how long can any of us endure without another？ For me at my darkest hours there had been the ancient nun of the Old Ways； Allesandra； or at least the babble of those who thought I was a little saint。
Why in this final decade of the twentieth century do we seek each other out if only for occasional words and exchanges of concern？ Why are we here gathered in this old and dusty convent of so many brick…walled empty rooms to weep for The Vampire Lestat？ Why have the very ancient among us e here to witness the evidence of his most recent and terrifying defeat？
We can't stand it； to be alone。 We cannot bear it； any more than the monks of old could bear it； men who though they had renounced all else for Christ's sake； nevertheless came together in congregations to be with one another； even as they enforced upon themselves the harsh rules of single solitary cells and unbroken silence。 They couldn't bear to be alone。
We are too much men and women； we are yet formed in the image of the Creator； and what can we say of Him with any certainty except that He； whoever He may be…Christ； Yahweh； Allah…He made us； did He not； because even He in His Infinite Perfection could not bear to be alone。
In time I conceived another love naturally； a love for a mortal boy Daniel； to whom Louis had poured out his story； published under the absurd title Interview with the Vampire； whom I later made into a vampire for the same reasons that Marius had made me so long ago： the boy； who had been my faithful mortal panion； and only sometimes an intolerable nuisance； was about to die。
That is no mystery unto itself； the making of Daniel。 Loneliness will always inevitably press us to such things。 But I was a firm believer that those we make ourselves will always despise us for it。 I cannot claim that I have never despised Marius； both for making me and never returning to me to assure me that he had survived the horrible fire created by the Roman Coven。 I had sought Louis rather than create others。 And having created Daniel I saw at last my fear realized within a short time。
Daniel； though alive and wandering； though civil and gentle； can no more stand my pany than I can stand his。 Equipped with my powerful blood； he can contend with any who should be foolish enough to interrupt his plans for an evening； a month or a year； but he cannot contend with my continuous pany； and I cannot contend with his。
I turned Daniel from a morbid romantic into a true killer； I made real in his natural blood cells the horror that he so fancied he understood in mine。 I pushed his face into the flesh of the first young innocent he had to slaughter for his inevitable thirst； and thereby fell off the pedestal on which he'd placed me in his demented； overimaginative； feverishly poetical and ever exuberant mortal mind。
But I had others around me when I lost Daniel； or rather when gaining Daniel as a fledgling； I lost hi