sonataforsybelle

[sonataforsybelle]

//Just in the club crying about Sybelle sharing about what she feels for the first time ever with Armand

[sonataforsybelle]

“And can you make us vampires too?” “Oh, never. Absolutely not. You’re pure of heart and too alive, and I don’t have such a power. It’s never done. It can’t be.” Again, he shrugged. “Then who made you?” he asked. “I was born out of a black egg,” I said. “We all are.”

Armand to Benji, The Vampire Armand by Anne Rice

[sonataforsybelle]

[sonataforsybelle]

There was a quick breath of relief as he assured her that he wouldn't leave. She believed him wholeheartedly and found no reason to doubt him. All of this had seemed like a dream ; and yet she believed. Was this akin to the faith she'd been observing from her high window as crowds congregated to the church below ? Perhaps ; but she was infinitely luckier than all of them, because she was not just praying to some great entity who might never come. Benji had prayed and prayed, she remembered ; but she'd lost hope a long time ago. So was Armand a God ? Not exactly. Was he her God ?

Close. But no, better than that. Humans rarely understood the Gods they cherished. She saw an angel, a monster, a friend, a brother and someone to cherish, help and also worship. Someone like her in a way she could not explain. All this at once and more. Soft touches to his hair, still, as she pondered on this. She was over complicating it ; she loved him, she knew it from the bottom of her heart, and that was the only truth that mattered.

A human life. She'd spent hers in a haze and in the sidelines, searching for belonging and failing, always feeling somehow separated from the rest of humanity. Even now it was hard imagining the bright future Armand seemed to want for her. Maybe, maybe with him... She could be happy with him. He was all she wanted. Her hazy visions of a tomorrow however immediately turned to Benji and became clearer.

"I want something..." she said slowly as she tried to translate her visions into words, into a request. "I want Benji to get to be a child, and not my... help."

The correct term was slave, but just thinking it made guilt coil around her insides again, and for a minute her hold tightened a tiny bit around Armand. "It's my fault, you know. If I hadn't been so..." she didn't finish the sentence as darkness swirled around her mind again with words that weren't hers. She closed her eyes and rested her chin on Armand's head until they left. He had this effect on her, something calming she couldn't quite describe.

After a moment like this, she heard him, and released him quietly to open her closet. For a reason that escaped her, Fox had never stopped buying her clothes, sometimes leaving silk dresses on her bed as a peace offering after a particularly nasty beating. On top of that she'd never gotten rid of belongings since the car crash and would panic if there was any talk of it, so her wardrobe was close to bursting. She selected a royal blue silk robe that was a bit large for her but was soft and comfy, and handed it to Armand.

"Do you need privacy ?" she asked, even if her first instinct was to help him into it. She felt no need of it for herself and she'd already been barely dressed around him before, but of course she would respect it if he needed it.

It was a wonder being so close to her, encircled in her arms and laying his head against her shoulder; feeling her hand on his hair and the gentle, constant thud thud thud of a tender mortal heart beating beneath the fine watery material of her robe. Even her smell, spring-born, airy and clean, coloured by the living blood coursing through her veins, gathered around them like a shroud. Armand had never been a waifish thing, still she touched him as though he was made from thin crystal or porcelain and cradled his body how she might a wounded bird, cupped ever so carefully between smooth open palms, petting the feather and down one light finger at a time. Despite this, her touch pained him, but the pain was sweet. Sharp, aching, not quite burning. Unfurling across the skin. Whether it was rooted in the external or internal, he failed to decipher. What difference did it make one way or the other?

Her suggestions fell over him one after the other. One easy, the other serious and still not enormously difficult. Having met her and Benji, and having experienced the familiar depths of their hurt and their kindness as well, Armand could not imagine not knowing them; to leave them behind in the cold of winter and go where? Unthinkable. Moreover, he did not know what to do with himself. What place might he return to? Where might he go and resume living, and for what? Without them, his rescuers, his darling ones, dear to him as he was dear to them after only such short a time, without them he was all alone again. In fact, without their company, Armand was more alone than ever. Dead. (In his mind, he saw the sombre and stately figures of Marius and Santino going down the elevator, passing invisible through the vault, throwing the evidence into a gaping incinerator. Consummatum est. Imagine that, a witness to his own funeral.) He might have returned and given the splintered coven a well and true shock, but what would he be returning to? If not Sybelle and Benji, what might he live for?

“I’m not leaving you,” Armand assured her. Her careful question filled his chest with warm, soothing light, and yet something quickened in him at her asking, a seed of joy planted by her lovely hands. To be wanted, to be loved. “You are my world, you and Benji. I…” he trailed off in though and realisation, finding the words as he spoke and surprising himself with their sincerity of feeling “I want to make sure you live a good life. A full, human life. You will want for nothing.”

In his quiet passion, the question about a spare robe escaped him, but as thoughts stilled he caught up to it again; “I would like to try it on, your robe.”

[sonataforsybelle]

no rizz just bambi eyes, daddy issues and a fear of abandonment

[sonataforsybelle]

[sonataforsybelle]

dolores nemi caldentey

[sonataforsybelle]

Benji tried to get Sybelle into videogames, but she's barred from the Sims ever since she tried to make the Trinity Gate household into a human family. Armand set the kitchen on fire within an hour and they all died. It scared her so bad she cried for thirty minutes and everyone had to come to remind her that they were, indeed, alive :')

Meanwhile she has no reaction to horror games and finds them quite fun.

[sonataforsybelle]

//Speaking of relationships not featured enough Sybelle and Rose should be best friends and the kind that's always seeming to chill together except they're just doing parallel play in a quiet room

[sonataforsybelle]

Sybelle's love for Lestat is so baby sister coded 😭 it's only a matter of time before she drags him to the piano and begs him to play with her

[sonataforsybelle]

[sonataforsybelle]

To be chosen. To be cared for. To be loved. The sweetest thing. The warmest thing.

[sonataforsybelle]

Ah -- she has many answers to that question, but she is not surprised Lestat has always done what he wanted. She admires that ; she'd been trying so hard to please everyone around her as a child she'd get confused between her wants and her family's expectations. Wasn't this piano career her dream ?

"To be loved. To please. Or because so much is expected of you, you don't even have wants of your own, or you don't know them." her song takes a melancholic tone, but not for long. All this shifted once her parents died in that car crash, when Fox became more and more violent and she stopped caring. Her frenzy of playing the Appassionata over and over, even while blows rained on her -- it was Sybelle saying no. No, no more, I will not do it. You cannot use me. You cannot break me.

And while she is still discovering her own taste and her own needs, growing up in a way, she still does what she wants now. No one would ever fault her for this, not anymore.

"Yes, a gift !" she beams all of a sudden. This is not something you'd hear from Armand or Louis ; Armand is happy to have her and Benji with him always, but she knows his initial feelings on their turning.

"I can do what I want too, now. I'll be loved either way and love everyone back. I know Armand wanted me to value it, but I never thought I was good at being human, I never mourned because I never was fully there in the first place," she added with a shrug as her focus centered on the music again, swelling into something more joyful and innocent. Debussy's Isle Joyeuse, a fun piece where she can play with the sound in a childlike way. Her face lights up as the tempo gets faster and her body sways along with it. I'm happy you're with me, too, she seems to say.

Debussy - L'isle joyeuse

" Of course. Why else would anyone do anything, if not for just wanting to? I've never wanted to do anything I hated. " And when Lestat breathes a quiet laugh, his head tilted backward to take in the view of the ornamental carvings across the ceiling, his voice is soft and bright.

Afraid. Oh, but I am... And fear, in Lestat, can so often lead to anger.

He moves, then, rising up from his place on the couch (a blessedly inferior imitation of how he'd once dragged himself heavily across the chapel, fresh from his slumber, for all manner of sprightliness and vigour has seized his fine form now), and he comes to sit by Sybelle on the piano bench. All the better to hear her play, to watch each ivory key strike out its brief and delicate song. Her voice is soothing, seeming to perfectly accompany the idle flow of the melody, as soft and harmonious as each silvery note. He closes his eyes, for a second.

Yes, Armand is here now, isn't he, somewhere in his labyrinth of polished marble and modern finery. The king of his own castle, so to speak. The young Benji, too, and Louis, no doubt holed up somewhere more private, out of the harsh electric light; He'd never taken to it as he did the glow of a candle flame. A little household of fine blood drinkers, indeed, hidden out of sight of the great wide world.

" Oui, and it is a gift, isn't it? To have those you love with you, to know they are with you on and on into eternity. " How bittersweet a sentiment, when Lestat's own fledglings (his great loves) had resolved in their own ways to be free of him.

He wants to stay, he thinks, to be with them; No longer shut out like some wretched phantom.

[sonataforsybelle]

//Adapting to my newfound productivity on Ritalin while having to accept it still won't make me as productive as a neurotypical person and thus dealing with the guilt is one hell of an adjustment (no bestie you still can't do full time like the artist hustlers claim they do but you can do up to 20h/week which is twice your best without meds, with a clean appartement and some hobbies on the side ! Take it silly)

[sonataforsybelle]

who am i without my daydreams and a pile of mental illnesses

[sonataforsybelle]

Sylvia Plath, "Love Letter"

[sonataforsybelle]

kinda crazy that Armand dedicates his book to Sybelle bc if I had to read All That about my sort-of-adoptive-dad I'd be like😶