Work Text:
Mortals are delicate ivory bone, fleshed in warmth and fed, like us, with living blood. My role is Death and at their whim, enacted with reverence or violence with all known variants in between.
I wonder now at my early reluctance to participate in the play; there are so many ways to die after all. Perhaps this role is not all that different from a road accident or an insidious virus. Lestat would tell me such an idea was altogether dreary, but then he has always been the consummate actor--the play's the thing and be hanged the morality.
My Lelio.