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Summary
On Night Island, Lestat is ruminating on his concert and the fall out from it when Armand finds him and attempts to pull him out of his malaise.
Lestat turned. Armand stood just inside the doorway of the small parlor looking like an angelic creature. His auburn hair hung loose around his pale, youthful face. His skin was tinged pink, a sign that he’d recently fed, and Lestat could smell the rich aroma of blood rushing through his veins. The television remote—pilfered off the end table—dangled in his fingers.
“I was a god on that stage, you know,” Lestat said.
Armand set the remote back on the table. “Playing god and being god are not the same thing.”
Lestat grinned. “Still so devout. And yet you came to witness me, surely as the rest of them.”