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the morning evening after
May. 24th, 2025 06:11 pmEddie is clean, rested, and a fucking vampire.
He's called Chrissy, but he hasn't gone home. After getting back, he had needed to let her know he was safe, physically, that he was alive and okay, in a sense, but also maybe that he wasn't safe to be around. That he needed to figure some things out before he came back home to see her. He said he loved her and nothing had or ever would change that, he only wanted to make sure she was safe.
From what? From him.
Now he's sitting in Lestat's home, his arms wrapped around his knees, thinking about what the fuck he's done and how everything is going to change. There's still no regret, no matter how heard he thinks about it, no matter how deeply he searches himself, because he's here and he's alive, for the most part, and that is preferable to having died back in that awful place.
But he's different. He's changed. He only needs to look at his reflection in a mirror to see that, his eyes an eerie colour of gold, his canines sharpening into fangs when he feels a strange rumble of hunger. That's the thing that keeps him from going home. If he goes home hungry, will he hurt Chrissy even if he doesn't want to?
The sun has set, he's pretty sure, or it's nearly there, and he squeezes his knees tighter to his chest for a moment, then stands and begins to pace. He needs Lestat to wake up.
He's called Chrissy, but he hasn't gone home. After getting back, he had needed to let her know he was safe, physically, that he was alive and okay, in a sense, but also maybe that he wasn't safe to be around. That he needed to figure some things out before he came back home to see her. He said he loved her and nothing had or ever would change that, he only wanted to make sure she was safe.
From what? From him.
Now he's sitting in Lestat's home, his arms wrapped around his knees, thinking about what the fuck he's done and how everything is going to change. There's still no regret, no matter how heard he thinks about it, no matter how deeply he searches himself, because he's here and he's alive, for the most part, and that is preferable to having died back in that awful place.
But he's different. He's changed. He only needs to look at his reflection in a mirror to see that, his eyes an eerie colour of gold, his canines sharpening into fangs when he feels a strange rumble of hunger. That's the thing that keeps him from going home. If he goes home hungry, will he hurt Chrissy even if he doesn't want to?
The sun has set, he's pretty sure, or it's nearly there, and he squeezes his knees tighter to his chest for a moment, then stands and begins to pace. He needs Lestat to wake up.
