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belle mort

@infantdeath-archived-blog / infantdeath-archived-blog.tumblr.com

"Goodnight sweet prince, may flights of devils wing you to your rest. " _______________________ INDIE RP blog Claudia of The Vampire Chronicles Crossovers welcome | 18+ Mature | Trigger warnings| TRACKTAG: infantdeath M!A: Accepting

+infantdeath

infantdeath:
fathersgreatflood:
infantdeath
“Hello, young one. It’s strange that you should be wandering about here on your own, isn’t it?”
Wide eyes peered up at the man. “And is it not weird for you to approach a child?”
“When they are absent the presence of a guardian? Most certainly. You’re right to be wary. Where is your mother, or father? I’ll see you to them safely. Lucky it was me that happened across your path tonight. There are worse things in these alleyways after dark.”

“I don’t have a mother or father.” She said simply, a small shrug of her shoulders. “I think I’m strong enough to care for myself.”

Beloved Bianca, have you come back?

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Yes, my darling. I’ve missed you so much. 

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infantdeath:
“I’ve missed you!” Petite arms extend for her, a frown.
She smiled, leaning to lift Claudia, wrapping her arms tightly around her small physique. “I am sorry, my darling lady, I shouldn’t have left.”

“You shouldn’t have but I’m sure that I can find it within me to forgive you.” She smiled, kissing her cheeks adoringly.

|| I want to do more hereeee. I love Claudia, she’s my damn favourite muse to play <3 <3. Who wants to write?!?!

                                     Where was that fragile,               golden-fair Dresden doll I used to be? Gone.                     Gone like porcelain turned into steel -                           made into someone who would                                always get what she wanted,                    no matter who or what stood in her way.

Penny Dreadful Starters

  • I would rather be the corpse I was than the man I am.
  • The monster is not in my face, but in my soul. 
  • Remember us better than we are.
  • Do you believe in God?
  • I believe in everything
  • I might have fallen in love with you, if you don’t mind me saying that. 
  • Are you afraid?
  • You think you know a greater demon? Tell me of him.
  • Do not weep. I’ve learned that skill. It brings no solace.  
  • I have a complicated history with the Almighty. 
  • She/He will cease to be who she/he is. 
  • Then I will love who she/he becomes.
  • Do you hold out hope for her/him?
  • I hold out for dignity.
  • She did not succumb to a disease precisely. 
  • Of what did she succumb?
  • I drove a stake through her heart and cut off her head. 
  • Of what I am about to tell you, we cannot enlighten him.
  • Because the truth is unendurable. 
  • There was a time I would have gladly killed you and there may come a time when I gladly shall.
  • Perhaps it has always been there, this thing, this demon inside me. 
  • I suppose we all play parts. 
  • How will we be able to tell?
  • Is it poisonous?
  • Touch me with your finger, softly.
  • You seek to threaten me with death? If you seek to threaten me, threaten me with life.
  • You don’t miss your home?
  • I learned to stay in the shadows. To protect such a heart as this you gave me.
  • Is every newborn creature abandoned the moment they are born?
  • Death is not serene.
  • They’re not for the faint hearted. 
  • My heart has never fainted
  • And what do you seek to escape?
  • We all have our curses, don’t we?

Claudia’s Journal

Wednesday September 21, 1836       This is my birthday present from Louis. Use as I like, he tells me. But perhaps I should like to copy into it those occasional poems which strike my fancy, and read these to him now and then?       I do not understand entirely what is meant by birthday. Was I born into this world on the 21st of September or was it on that day that I departed all things human to become this?      My gentlemen parents are forever reluctant to illuminate such simple matters. One would think it bad taste to dwell on such subjects. Louis looks puzzled, then miserable, before he returns to the evening paper. And Lestat, he smiles and plays a little Mozart for me, then answers with a shrug: “It was the day you were born to us.”      Of course, he gave me a doll as usual, the replica of me, which as always wears a duplicate of my newest dress. To France he sends for these dolls, he wants me to know. And what should I do with it? Play with it as if I were really a child?      “Is there a message here, my beloved father?” I asked him this evening. “That I shall be a doll forever myself?” He has given me thirty such dolls over the years if recollection serves me. And recollection never does anything else. Each doll has been exactly like the rest. They would crowd me out of my bedroom if I kept them. But I do not keep them. I burn them, sooner or later. I smash their china faces with the poker. I watch the fire eat their hair. I can’t say that I like doing this. After all the dolls are beautiful. And they do resemble me. Yes, it becomes an appropriate gesture. The doll expects it. So do I.      And now he has brought me another, and he stands in my doorway staring at me afterwards, as if my question cut him. And the expression on his face is so dark suddenly, I think, this cannot be my Lestat.      I wish that I could hate him. I wish that I could hate them both. But they defeat me not with their strength but with their weakness. They are so loving! And so pleasing to look at. Mon Dieu, how the women go after them!      As he stood there watching me, watching me examine this doll he had given me, I asked him sharply:  ”Do you like what you see?” “You don’t want them anymore, do you?” he whispered. “Would you want them,” I asked, “if you were me?”      The expression on his face grew even darker. Never have I seen him the way he looked. A scorching heat came into his face, and it seemed he blinked to clear his vision. His perfect vision. He left me and went into the parlor. I went after him. In truth, I couldn’t bear to see him the way he was, yet I pursued him. “Would you like them,” I asked, “if you were me?”      He stared at me as if I frightened him, and he a man of six feet and I a child no more than half that, at best.      “Am I beautiful to you?” I demanded.      He went past me down the hall, out the back door. But I caught up with him. I held tight to his sleeve as he stood at the top of the stairs. “Answer me!” I said to him. “Look at me. What do you see?”      He was in a dreadful state. I thought he’d pull away, laugh, flash his usual brimming colors. But instead he dropped to his knees before me and took hold of both my arms. He kissed me roughly on the mouth. “I love you,” he whispered. “I love you!” As if it were a curse he laid on me, and then he spoke this poetry to me:                                                             Cover her face;                                                            mine eyes dazzle;                                                             she died young. Webster it is, I am almost certain. One of those plays Lestat so loves. I wonder…will Louis be pleased by this little poem? I cannot imagine why not. It is small but very pretty.

Source: infantdeath

He has given me thirty such dolls over the years if recollection serves me. And recollection never does anything else. Each doll has been exactly like the rest. They would crowd me out of my bedroom if I kept them. But I do not keep them. I burn them, sooner or later. I smash their china faces with the poker. I watch the fire eat their hair. I can’t say that I like doing this. After all the dolls are beautiful. And they do resemble me. Yes, it becomes an appropriate gesture. The doll expects it. So do I. I wish that I could hate him. I wish that I could hate them both. But they defeat me not with their strength but with their weakness. They are so loving! And so pleasing to look at. Mon Dieu, how the women go after them!”

Source: infantdeath
♡:Accidentally falling asleep together 

This was surely a rare sight. On most nights, Claudia would have brought herself directly to Louis’ coffin and tucked her small body close against his before the wee morning hours…tonight, however, was different. She had spent the evening going about her normal routine with Lestat; allowing him to dress her in whatever fancy dresses he had purchased for her this evening, brushing out her golden curls as if she were a doll he could parade around - wasn’t that what she was? A doll, a toy? As soon as he had her prepared, the rest of their evening had involved visiting local families within their neighbourhood and showing off Claudia’s piano skills - parading her around once more as if she were his most prized possession. Perhaps she were still too naive to notice that this treatment were not particularly fair; but who was she to argue? She enjoyed spending this time with him, it was nearly impossible for her to get Louis to partake in such activities with her and she wouldn’t dare test him on that tonight. As soon as the night had come to a close, she allowed Lestat to carry her petite frame back to their home, resting her head against his shoulder and closing her eyes; as if to say that she were not expecting to be moved from his side. Still, worried that he may move her to her own coffin - she spoke, her voice a near whisper “Papa, may I sleep with you tonight?”

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dandelioncourt

Lestat smiled at Claudia’s request as he placed his hand upon her back, his other reaching to close the coffin’s lid. “Of course, ma petite.” He answered softly, pressing a kiss to the top of her golden head. He spoiled the girl with lavish gifts and finery, and could hardly deny her requests, however trivial. 

Closing his eyes, Lestat began to sing an old French lullaby he’d once overheard from a mother settling her children into bed for the night. It had been a sweet song, sung softly with tender notes. And while the mother’s voice carried from the open window of the children’s bedroom, he crooned the song in the confined space of the coffin, the pad of his thumb sweeping across the young girl’s cheek in a soothing manner.

With that, she curled closer to him, clutching to him as if her life depended on it; it was purely a rare sight, the pair curling close together in the quiet moments just before falling into the death sleep. Claudia yawned softly once more, allowing her eyes to fully close as she begun to drift off to sleep.

- fin  -