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Summary
"When you turn to dust, I won’t sweep you up," Lestat drawls from the stairs.
Louis smoothes his thumb over the blistering skin pulled taut across his knuckles.
"I will leave you there in a pile until the wind blows you into the streets of your beloved city."
Or: A conversation about sunlight and martyrdom.
Bookmarked by UnsureBird
15 Sep 2023