Lestat hadn't any idea how much time had passed since he'd been incarcerated in the coffin, but time mattered not. What did matter, however, was his hunger. His appetite for blood was veracious, and he felt himself wasting away with each passing hour. But that was the only emotion he felt. The death of his beloved was all he had to dwell upon in the eternal darkness, and she was all he thought of. That, and seeking revenge on the woman, the witch, who had killed her, and damned him to this ignominious form and horrid incarceration. He swore he would escape, and he would wreak havoc on her, and kill her in a way a thousand times more horrible. He would avenge his love, even if he died doing it. Death's embrace would be welcome to him now anyways. He would see Elizabeth again. He caught the glint of his engagement band on his finger, and a thin tear of blood slid down his cheek. Elizabeth, so cruelly taken from him. She was only 18. She didn't deserve anything that had happened. His blood boiled. He was angry with himself, and the way he'd treated her. Maybe he did deserve this, but not her. She was innocent. She'd never said a cruel thing to him in her life. And she was dead. Dead because of a witch. So to say hunger was the only thing he felt was wrong. He felt something else. Heartbreak, and rage. Unquenchable, burning rage.
