Louis de Pont du Lac

"Vampires who pretend to be humans pretending to be vampires."
"How avant-garde."

Most of all, I longed for death. I know that now. I invited it. A release from the pain of living.

Lestat killed two, sometimes three a night. A fresh young girl...was his favorite for the first of the evening. For seconds, he preferred a gilded, beautiful youth. But the snob in him loved to hunt in society. The blood of the aristocrat thrilled him best of all.

That morning, I was not yet a vampire...and I saw my last sunrise. I remember it completely...and yet I can't recall any sunrise before it. I watched the whole magnificence of the dawn for the last time...as if it were the first. And then I said farewell to sunlight...and set out to become...what I became.

I'm flesh and blood...but not human. I haven't been human for 200 years.

1791 was the year it happened. I was 24. Younger than you are now... But times were different then. I was a man at that age. The master of a large plantation, just south of New Orleans. I had lost my wife in childbirth. She and the infant had been buried less than half a year. I would've been happy to join them. I couldn't bear the pain of their loss. I longed to be released from it. I wanted to lose it all: my wealth...my estate...my sanity. My invitation was open to anyone. To the whore at my side. To the pimp that followed. But it was a vampire that accepted.

For years I wandered: Italy, Greece...all the ancient lands. But the world was a tomb to me...a graveyard full of broken statues. And each of those statues resembled her face.

"Monsieur Louis? You don't want any supper? 2
"No, ma cherie."
"We're worried about you, Master. When is it that you go riding in the field? And how long since you've been to the slave quarter? Everywhere there is death. Are you still our master at all?
"That will be all, Yvette".
" I will not go unless you listen to me. You must send away this friend of yours. The slaves are all frightened of him...and they are frightened of you. "
"I'm frightened of myself."

"Why do you do this?"
"I like to do it. I enjoy it. Take your aesthete's taste to purer things. Kill them swiftly if you will, but do it. For do not doubt you are a killer, Louis."