One more fledgling in the mist/ One Shots Lestat De Lioncourt

Plaiting Lestat hair

1798

Her little heart hammered in her chest as she observed her maker. She was a quiet thing totally different from the brat prince. She sometimes wondered if she would ever get over this nervousness she felt when she saw him. The little butterflies she would get in her tummy or her heart feeling as though it may leap from her chest.

To Lestat he would watch her curiously, observing her small delicate nature. How she seemed to be unsure of her next move, her blue  wide eyes searching for reassurance from him which he would gladly give her.

His youngest fledgling with a heart so strong that it called to him like a spell. He was enchanted by her from the moment that he heard it, the little thumps against her chest as her will to survive her horror continued. Even though her body should have given in that little heart of hers refused, rebelled against the natural needs.

It had been months since that fateful day where he had gladly given her the dark gift. Her little heart fearfully beating as the blood entered her system. She has been one of them every night after. With eyes too big for her face staring innocently at Lestat silently asking for his guidance. He doted on her, his little cherie. without words she had managed to wrap him around her finger, looking at him with those eyes of hers had him falling at any request.

That's why she stood there in the doorway of the room Lestat was in. Sat at his piano. She had hidden herself so just her head was peaking out, hoping to quietly observe her maker but Lestat knew she was there, a small smile on his face as his little one watched. She was in awe with  his music, of how the note strung together when he played. Two hairbands tight in her grip, ones she had taken from her kill tonight. The idea excited her back then, but now the nervousness to ask had taken form and she wasn't sure it was a good idea. Still she slowly came out from where she stood. His head snapping up at the same time, he could feel her nervousness, hear the oh so powerful heart beating away in her chest and saw her eyes hold reluctantly and a slight bit of fear.

"What is it my child." He asked, his hands still moving to play the song as he waited for a reply.

Her big blue eyes staring at him as she moved closer, her eyes completely fixated on his hair, his mad blonde pretty hair. She had had a desire to want to plait it for ages but she felt silly asking for this request. But she was here now in front of him with his blue eyes waiting for her to tell him, so with no backing down she processed.

" I got these earlier, can I plait your hair." She asked excitedly buliding in her and hoped that she would be grated with this small ask. He laughed a big laugh and stopped playing all together. He walked towards her still smiling.

"I thought it was something serious   Cherie. " He told her. Her excitement dimmed something Lestat had taken notice of.

" Of course you can little one." He spoke knowing full well that he couldn't refuse her.
In her excitement she grabbed his hand and dragged him all the way back to her room. Had him sit in front of her while she brushed his hair.

He remain as stil as possible throughout the whole event, discovering that his cherie had no experience in plaiting hair for her constant plaiting, undoing, and plaiting it again. But he sat there waiting patiently for her to be finished.

Only a few more tries later and the girl finally got it right, declaring in a loud excited tone that she had done it. She then grabbed his hand again, her excited babble to him as she dragged him in front of the mirror. He looked at his reflection.

His grey blue eyes taking in his whole appearance from his white highly reflective skin to his short narrow nose, to his mouth that was a little to big for his face. All the way up to his hair which normally either sat just above his shoulders or tie back in a black ribbon, appropriate for an 18th century gentleman. Now it sat off his face entirety, part down the middle his hair woven and held together in to french plaits with a strand lose on either side.

"Do you like it." His young one asked in a nervous tone.

" I love it cherie." He replied.