{ @Precious_Guilt } < her way on satin slippered feet through the house to find Louis.] Louis? [She called, winding through the rooms on the upper floor of the New Orleans home the three of them shared.]

{ @Precious_Guilt } < again. [It wasn't a question, she also did not ask him for an explanation, however she would listen if he offered one. She merely continued to trace the edge of his brow, down across his cheekbone soothingly.]

{ @Precious_Guilt } < perhaps experience the evening? [When she spoke to Louis, there was always the curl of fondness to her words, almost a whispering, secretive. When she spoke to Lestat, her words could cut, and her tone was always sharp. Dangerous.]

{ @Precious_Guilt } < normal as possible. She was a child cut from marble in a place where the sun shone more often than it didn't, and too much skin was never an option.] Are we taking a carriage, or are we walking, Louis?

{ @Precious_Guilt } < hedonist at his core, and any virtues that he had were based on that foundation. She was relieved that she was with Louis this night. Because Lestat would have already been out prowling. Or dismissive of her concern.]