"But he was only Lestat, as I’ve described him to you: devoid of mystery, finally his limits as familiar to me in those months in eastern Europe as his charms. I wanted to forget him, and yet it seemed I thought of him always. It was as if the empty nights were made for thinking of him. And sometimes I found myself so vividly aware of him it was as if he had only just left the room and the ring of his voice were still there. And somehow there was a disturbing comfort in that, and despite myself, I’d envision his face–not as it had been the last night in the fire, but on other nights, the last evening he spent with us at home, his hand playing idly with the keys of the spinet, his head tilted to one side. A sickness rose in me more wretched than aguish when I saw what my dreams were doing. I wanted him alive!"

—Louis from Interview with the Vampire by Anne Rice (via psychemenace)