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Summary
It was a moment of pure, rancid weakness that led him to this moment. The feast was done, the bodies burned, and there he was, cradling his maker’s lifeless body in his arms, screaming at his Sister Daughter Accomplice not to burn him too. Lestat had caused this pain, written his own sentence years ago, and if ever they were to be free of their tormentor, the plan must be followed-through.
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Not enough sickfics so I’ve made my own. What if Louis made things just a little more complicated, as if they weren’t already.