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could count, pregnancy—now I saw it!—horror birth, monster child,
Look at it: woman baby! Morrigan. “Walking Baby,” said Dolly Jean. Who are these people! What is this you are showing to me! “You think you’re the only monsters I know?”
Morrigan gone forever, monster child,
What is this mutant that grows to be a full woman at its birth, wants your milk? Taltos! Gone, taken, ruined her health forever, made her start dying,
have to find Morrigan, emerald around Mona’s neck, look at that emerald! Mona fastened to Quinn, so in love with Quinn, tell Quinn, no, poetry of Ophelia sustaining her soul, heart beat, catching breath, dying for too long,
Don’t you realize what this is! I do, I do! Don’t stop! Don’t let me go! Who is that trying to take you from me? I knew that ghost! Oncle Julien!
    He came at me. Angry phantom! In the midst of my vision! Was he in the room? This tall, white-haired man assaulting me, trying to wrench her from me! Who the Hell are you? I sent him flying back, receding so fast he became a tiny speck. Damn you, let her go!
    We lay on the bower of flowers, she and I in each other’s arms, no time, look at him, he’s coming again, Oncle Julien! I was blind. I drew back, tore my wrist again, pushed my wrist to her mouth, clumsy, spilling blood, couldn’t see, felt her clamp hard, body lurch,
Oncle Julien, you’re out!
She drank and drank. Oncle Julien’s face furious. Faint. Vanish. “He’s gone,” I whispered. “Oncle Julien gone!” Did Quinn hear? “Make him go, Quinn.”
    I swooned, giving her my life, see it, see it all, see the devastated core, move beyond regret, go on, her body growing stronger, the iron of her limbs, her fingers digging into my arm as she drank from my wrist, go on, take it, sink those teeth into my soul, do it, now I’m the paralyzed one, can’t escape, brutal little girl, go on, where was I, let her drink on and on, I can’t, I snuggled my face against her neck, opened my mouth, no power to—.
    Our souls closing to each other, the inevitable blindness between Maker and Fledgling meaning she was made. Couldn’t read each other’s thoughts anymore. Drink me dry, beautiful, you’re on your own.
    My eyes were shut. I dreamt. Oncle Julien wept. Ah, so sad, was it? In the realm of shadows, he stood with his face in his hands and he wept. What is this? An emblem of conscience? Don’t make me laugh.
    And so the literal dissolves. She drinks and she drinks. And alone I dream, a suicide in a bathtub with streaming wrists, I dream:
    I saw a perfect vampire, a soul unlike any other, tutored in courage, never looking back, lifted from misery, and seeking to marvel at all things without malice or lamenting. I saw a graduate of the school of suffering. I saw her.
    The ghost came back.
    Tall, angry, Oncle Julien, will you be my Hound of Heaven? Arms folded. What do you want here? Do you realize what you are up against? My perfect vampire does not see you. Go away, dream. Go away, ghost. I have no time for you. Sorry, Oncle Julien, she’s made. You lose.
    She let me go. She must have. I drifted.
    When I opened my eyes, Mona stood beside Quinn and they were both looking down on me.
    I lay amongst the flowers, and there were no thorns on the roses. Time had stopped. And the distant commotions of the house didn’t matter.
    She was fulfilled. She was the vampire in my dream. She was the perfect one. Ophelia’s old poetry dropped away. She was the Perfect Pearl, caught speechless in the miracle and staring down at me, wondering only what had become of me, as another fledgling of mine had done long ago—when I’d worked the Dark Trick just as fiercely and just as thoroughly and just as dangerously to myself. But understand that for Lestat there are only temporary dangers. No big deal, boys and girls. Look at her.
    So this was the splendid creature with whom Quinn had fallen so fatally in love. Princess Mona of the Mayfairs. To the very roots of her long red hair