"I looked up, and in the midst of the flood of light I saw again the balustrade, and against it stood a single form.
"It was a tall figure who stood with his hands on the railing, looking over it and down. This appeared to be a man. He turned around and looked at me and reached out to receive me.
"His hair and eyes were dark, brownish, his face perfectly symmetrical and flawless, his gaze intense; and the grasp of his fingers very tight.
"I drew in my breath. I felt my body in all its solidity and fragility as his fingers clung to me. I was on the verge of death. I might have ceased to breathe at that moment, or ceased to move with the commitment to life and might have died!
"The being drew me towards himself, a light flooding from him that mingled with the light behind him and all around him, so his face grew brighter yet more distinct and more detailed. I saw the pores of his darkening golden skin, I saw the cracks in his lips, the shadow of the hair that had been shaved from his face.
"And then he spoke loudly, pleadingly to me, in a heartbroken voice, a voice stronger and masculine and perhaps even young.
"'You would never be my adversary, would you? You wouldn't, would you? Not you, Lestat, no, not you!'
"My God.
"In utter agony, I was torn out of His grip, out of His midst, and out of His milieu.
"The whirlwind once again surrounded us. I sobbed and beat on Memnoch's chest. Heaven was gone!
"'Memnoch, let go of me! God, it was God!'"
Copyright © 1995 by Anne O'Brien Rice.
