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[multiverse]

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PARISA

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[nishtha]

[ There's the shape of it, vaguely. It's death, because it's always death, their mutual addiction, the dark star around which they hopelessly orbit. Armand, watching the moonlight as it climbs the wall of Daniel's study, considers the vastness of that distance. The deep black chill of what they both know to be the truth. ]

Not in this life.

[ He closes his eyes, adds: ]

Bi-eshq neshāt-o tarab afzun nashavad,
Bi-eshq vojud khub-o mowzun nashavad,
Sad qatre ze abr agar be daryā rizad,
Bi-jonbesh-e eshq dorr-e maknun nashavad.

[ To be everything with him and nothing without him. To be willing to do anything. If nothing else, he understands that terrible, wonderful devotion. ]

[multiverse]

( she’s quiet, in a way that’s deeper than silence, like the eerie depth of dark when someone is watching you from the shadows. she’s aware of her breath, armand’s voice in her ears like a prayer. this is the guidance of a coven master, she imagines. the slat blade of poetic beauty.

eventually, she sets her head down on emmrich’s desk. he has papers here, papers that he uses to write parisa letters, letters that she has in a locked box in her bedroom. in all of them, he tells her he loves her, even if it’s between the lines of script. and what had his love for her earned him? freedom of his shackles of fear — yes, now he can go into death without looking behind him. a little orpheus, music from the bones of the dead. )

Emmrich is dead.

( i killed him she doesn’t say, but it’s apparent to armand anyway — she offers him the privilege of knowing all in the depth of her. emmrich’s righteousness, her demand she be involved. small hands around his delicate throat. )

Will the wound so named Daniel Molloy ever heal? Love seems a poor exchange for all this pain.

[nishtha]

[ With her, he sees it all. Contained and distant, a quiet observer of her grief and frustration, her fierce love. The pressure of her fingers as his pulse fluttered and faded beneath them. The smell of his cologne on her skin. He understands the sacrifice and the necromancer's desire to understand what lies ahead. It had been the same for Daniel, the frank confrontation of what he knew awaited him. The bright young journalist caught in the failing cage of his body. Armand had loved and hated him for that foolish bravery.

In return, he offers Parisa something he's offered nobody else: memories of blood in his mouth and Daniel's body dying beneath him. Louis nearby, soothing them both. A loving death, a loving rebirth. And also, Daniel, alive and mortal, on Louis' couch in Dubai, rattling off some noble destruction of their arch vampire drama. A desert sunset beyond the tinted windows, a meal being prepared in the wings. Safe in the world Armand had carefully curated. All of it pretence, but oh, it had been sweet to play the part.

He lingers in the vast silence between them, the endless space that's only a breath apart. ]

I wouldn't change it. Love is painful. [ A flicker, Lestat's face. Blond hair. Cruel, beautiful hands. A stray thought: watching a mortal couple strolling hand-in-hand along the banks of the Seine, centuries ago. An observation: ]

But you gave him an easeful death. A gentle death. You wouldn't let him kill himself.

[multiverse]

( it's armand's age that makes his mind so richly colored, she imagines, or at least some affect of being the creature that he is. he feels things more deeply than anyone she knows — his mind is almost painful just in its own existence, with more vivid colors, more depth of emotion, brighter lights. the love isn't necessarily pure within him, but it is raw — some expensive slab of steak, something perfectly marbled, something fatty to sink your teeth into. daniel, louis, lestat. they've spun themselves into a tangled web, but it's not lacking it's own beauty, just as pain isn't lacking it's own satisfaction. the truth is it doesn't seem a poor exchange for love at all, really — love is painful. she's just never felt it, before.

admittance, )

There's a part of me that couldn't stomach the idea of something of his not also being mine, including his death. It wasn't gentle. It was possessive.

( she can't imagine armand's teeth in daniel's neck were lacking any possessiveness, so maybe he'll understand — rather, maybe she understands him just a bit more, in doing this. there's always been a baseline dynamic between them of eerie similarities, but she wonders if they aren't each others definitions, but synonyms to each other, slant differences to the same core concept. that concept, shameful, quietly spoken — )

I didn't want to be left out. ( there's more, that fear of a life within a bubble, a yawning, yearning need to be seen in every inch of oneself, if only to be found lacking. if only to know. her mind has jungle cat warmth in cupping armand's, a large, purring chest pouring over the back of his mind. rather than speak any of it, she says, ) Armand, Armand, Armand.

[nishtha]

[ It makes sense to the vampire. Taking ownership of another's death is the subject of his creation myth, his laws, his very being. It's everything he has, everything he is. His thoughts are soft with understanding and acceptance, yes the fear, yes the hunger, the loneliness. The desire to be something, anything, if it means no longer being nothing, yes, yes, yes.

He leans into the resonance and throb of his name, lacing his mind through hers like hands coming together in prayer. Sanctified grief. The death, a holy act, for all between them will be transformed by it. Yes, he understands. ]

Parisa. [ Her name, given back to her. ] Parisa, come to me. Come to me and we will find oblivion together. For as long as is needed.