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Madeline was an alluring force. Claudia knew this from the moment she saw her really. Noticed the fiery red hair atop an angular face and suspicious yet amused eyes. She was always amused Madeline. At first, Claudia thought the amusement came at her own expense. Claudia was small in stature—some deficiencies making her unable to grow much during puberty, stuck at some odd crossroads between womanhood and perpetual youth. She could imagine it, short and shapeless as she was, the amusement women with the right considerables would find in looking at her. Claudia soon found out Madeline's amusement was at the world though. She found much joy, revelled in both the beauty and the cruelty life had to offer. She found joy in material things, became almost ecstatic from a good wine, rich fabrics, food and art. She indulged in whatever her heart desired, whenever it desired it. Claudia was surprised at her own shock with the womans voluptuous appetite for it all. She had thought she'd shaken off all traces of home, the stifled atmosphere and the two men stuck in eternal misery. One happy to spend his life in zealous opulence and the other determined to match it with a life long abstinence. Memories claw at her like a hound at her heel. Claudia does not want to remember such times, she does not want to remember them at all. It is a wicked thought, cruel even—she had such a temperament—yet it remains.
Madeline is nothing like them though. She has known cruelty and yet she does not fault the whole world, she does not curse those who wrong her. She does not let it fester in her soul and rot her from the inside. Claudia tries it sometimes. As the years pass and she is sure they know everything there is to possibly know about a person, she tries to let the past go.
There isn't really anything holding her to it. She is no longer a child, adhering to the madness of her parents. They are an ocean away, just how she likes it.
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She is no more her father's daughter than the sun is cold. There is nothing that holds her to him, no blood, no making of her being that is tethered to his. Whatever they may share, whatever part of her body that is similar to his, has long since died. Withered in her body and left it surely. He is no more her father than anyone else. A creator he may be, hers even, but how little that means to her. That he deigned to spit her out into the world. She dictates what it means to be Claudia. She alone knows who she is. What right does a creator have to its creation when said creation has made itself? What right does he have to her being when it shudders at his mere presence? What right does a maker have to a soul that rebukes it?
Strange, for a bird to long for her cage. Claudia thinks as she watches Madeline, head thrown back in laughter. Louis stands opposite her, their chattering doesn't penetrate the thick veranda glass doors, Claudia cannot find it in herself to go in and join them. Claudia cannot believe she is here, back to the same house she'd ran from. Lestat stands a distance from her, to her side, elbows resting on the veranda wall and a cigarette dangling between long fingers. It is almsot exhausting, this stalemate between them.
The house looks the same, grand, exquisite, stuck. Louis still smiles the same. For some reason Claudia is surprised by that. The way his eyes shine when he sees her, the way his smile is so wide, she can see the beginnings of crows feet forming on his face. She feels a ridiculous stinging behind her eyes at the thought.
Lestat is the same too, more or less. Guarded, looks at her like she'll explode if he stares at her wrong—fucking hypocrite.
He's softer though. Doesn't yell, is more quiet overall. Maybe they're both aging faster than she thought they would. Maybe he'd become docile in his senile age.
"You look troubled." He says. Doesn't turn to look at her, his back against her, he takes a long drag of his cigarette, content to let her ignore him.
"Know what that looks like do you?" She asks. There is no real heat. Her eyes are stuck on Madeline and Louis in the kitchen. Louis is opening a bottle of red—theres only ever been red at the house, Louis could never stand anything else. Lestat liked what Louis liked—and Madeline reaching for two glasses.
"They get along well." Claudia says after a while. Words already feeling like a betrayal. Lestat hums.
"Louis is easy to get along with." Lestat agrees. Claudia bites the inside of her cheek. A bad habit, there is scar tissue from her teenage years.
"Maddy said he's lovely." Claudia continues. Her stomach still drops at the words. She is suddenly reminded of Sunday church. Louis liked taking her when she was real little, before they started fighting about it. Claudia didn't mind it, the service was nice, sometimes her uncle Paul would play the piano, sometimes he would look at her and smile. One morning, Louis insisted she talk to a priest in the confessional booth, to practice. Holy communion was coming up for her and Louis said it's easier with practice. She'd sat opposite the priest and confessed, to what she can't recall, nor can she remember if she was forgiven.
"Louis is a very easy person to love." Lestat says, in that same agreeable tone as before. Like it was common fact, like they were discussing the weather.
"I told her things" She begins, mouth open and tongue dry, she can't get the words out. Lestat still isn't looking at her. Claudia feels like a child.
"About you, about Louis. She asked about home and I told her." She rushes, like a confession, silly how embarrassed she feels, like she's been caught in the middle of the night by him—a distant memory—climbing the countertop next to the fridge to have a look at her birthday cake.
Lestat could always find her, even as she grew older, he was always the one to sniff out her secrets.
"And you thought she wouldn't like him?" Lestat asks, glancing at her, Claudia meets his gaze but cannot decipher the look. She turns away.
"Would you prefer her prejudiced opinion on your father? He continues. Claudia kisses her teeth and turns a sharp look on him,
"I don't need your judgment." She says and hates that she sounds so defensive. Lestat laughs, stubs out his cigarette on the outside of the balustrade.
"Daddy's gon' be mad at you." Claudia reminds.
"Your father had me remake this whole veranda and the porch, I made the veranda with marble. No marks." Lestat informs, hands patting the stone railing.
They're quiet for a moment, Claudia watching as Madeline toasts her glass with Louis', it makes him laugh, nose scrunching up.
"Are you angry with her? For not reacting the way you want." Lestat asks and she feels tears prick her eyes, her mascara wasn't even waterproof.
"It's not that! I just thought she'd" she stops, breath caught in her throat, "I just thought she'd look at it differently." Claudia finishes lamely.
"I don't mean to make you feel bad, about your feelings. You have lived most your life with us. There aren't many that know us the way you do. How she feels doesn't remove your memories." Lestat says.
Ridiculous, her father, cruel in memory and kind without meaning to be. She knows then, she must still share some part of her with him. A small collection of cells, unwavering in their determination to stay inside her. How else could she explain the swooping of her belly at his words, the stutter in her heartbeat. He has no hold on her anymore. She didn't need his approval, she didn't even want it.
"I don't need you spewing bullshit to make me feel better." She says coldly. He laughs, loud and boisterous, just like in her memories.
"Four years in Paris and you still curse like an American Loulou." He continues to laugh. She feels stripped of her years with the endearment. 'My little wolf', it wasn't even the right gendered endearment but it dominated her childhood. Claudia liked to bite as a child—Louis liked to joke she never got out of her teething phase—and Lestat had found great humour in it, even when he was Claudias preferred victim. Would she ever be free of him? These memories that directly oppose her stance against him, intertwined with the ones that fuel her resentment.
"I'm not lying Claudia" he starts, voice too soft. Claudia snorts "you've never had an issue with it before. Why stop now?" She bites. His jaw clamps shut, she can see his teeth clench behind soft flesh.
Lestat looks at her and for the first time she recognises her father. There is anger behind his eyes, nose flared and mouth curled in a sneer. She braces for the breaking point, wonders if his screams will reverberate on the glass sliding doors and alert the two inside.
"I suppose that is a fair assessment on my character." He breathes. Turns around to look at the lush garden sprawled out in front of him. Claudia feels the floor wobble underneath her.
They don't speak much more after that. Lestat heads inside, complaining of the cold loud enough for Louis to hear—who huffs about proper clothing but walks up with a throw blanket from the living room—and leaving the glass door open for Claudia to follow.
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"He's very sweet, Louis. I thought him coy at first but he's charming." Madeline says as she braids her hair in front of the mirror. Claudia is dressing herself for bed and stops to peer into the adjoining bathroom. "Louis' the softer one, I guess." Claudia admits, unsure if it's a conversation she wants to have. She could tell Madeline was taken by Louis, an easy thing to be. They had talked the entire time it took to prep dinner—Louis had been adamant about making every one of Claudia's favourite meals, even the ones he hated. Claudia was stuck at a crossroads of sort. On the one hand, she had willingly come back home, to see daddy and papa again, to spend the summer in the sultry heat of New Orleans. On the other hand, it didn't feel right, it didn't feel good for her girlfriend to be so smitten with her father.
"He told me stories about your childhood." Madeline laughed, delighted as she meet Claudia's gaze in the mirror.
"You've already heard it from me. Whatever romantic take he fed yous bullshit." Claudia says, tone harsh and she saw herself, eyes cold and mouth set in a hard line. Madeline's smile was gone, Claudia suddenly felt foolish.
"You are angry with me." Madeline states.
"No, I'm not." Claudia insists lamely. She breaks eye contact and practically throws herself on the settee behind her.
"A bad lie Claudia." Madeline says gravely and Claudia huffs out a breath. "What do you want me to say?"
"Why you are angry." Madeline counters easily, the look on her face serious as she walks over to join Claudia on the settee. Madeline nudges at Claudia's thigh until she makes space for her.
"You really liked him." Claudia states.
"Louis? Yes, he was sweet." Madeline says offhandedly.
"What about the things I told you about them?" Claudia accuses. Madeline's brows shoot up.
"What, did you think I made it up? After five minutes spent with sweet Louis" Claudia continues, letting the frustration take rule.
“You were the one who wanted to come here.” Madeline says calmly. Claudia huffs,
“You know how hard Louis’ been riding the whole wanting a summer with me. I didn’t have much of a choice.”
"You brought me here Claudia." Madeline cuts her off.
"So?" She pushes
"So I took the liberty of getting to know your family. That is why I'm here no?" Madeline exclaims. Claudia knows she is hurt, can see it in the rigid set of her shoulders, the tightness of her jaw.
They are stuck like that for a moment, quiet dawning on them like a stifling blanket.
"Why are you angry that I’ve had a conversation with your father?” Madeline asks, soft words muttered in French after a moment of silence. Her head leans back, resting on the painted wall of her bedroom. Claudia remembers the hours Lestat spent on it, every detail engraved into the cement wall, insisting it be perfect for his little pup.
“I didn’t want you to think I’d made it up.” Claudia admits softly. Her heart shudders at the confession, stomach churning in fear. She feels Madeline’s hand, reaching for Claudia’s neck, slender fingers wrapping themselves on the base of it. Madeline drags Claudia’s head to rest on her shoulder. They sit like that for a while, Claudia loses track of time, or perhaps time slows down, like sap running down a tree, her eyes become heavy.
“Silly girl.” Madeline says, voice thick with emotion, or maybe she is very tired. Claudia claps Madeline’s hand in her own.
“I have never doubted a single word from your mouth. Take me for the lovesick fool that I am. But please do not believe I would ever turn against you like this.” Madeline continues. Claudia feels soft lips on her forehead, feels the stinging behind her eyelids.
“I’m sorry.” She says, voice high and ridiculous, Shes trying to force back tears, it hadn’t even been a night in this home, she refused to let them fall.
“I know” Madeline laughs, a bit exasperated, mostly tired. “I love you.” She murmurs.
They are in bed, tucked into each other like two perfect puzzles when Claudia whispers the words in Madeline’s ears. “I love you.”