I tried to steal images from the thoughts of those who have heard in recent years, but I can not and will never really understand how a mortal could make our voice heard.
should be unnaturally strong and sharp.
Inhuman.
But the veil of consistency that controls your desire to reality, means that no one whispers the truth about our voice.
you could say that my voice is the most beautiful. But, of course, I know that you would expect this behavior on my part. And I hate to be predictable.
Each of us has a voice that touches the passion. I could not do without the voice of my lovers.
Louis. The low tone and calm, the cool Creole accent, the rhythm of music. A flute.
Armand. Small. A high-pitched voice as a kid, willful, wanton, capricious. The emphasis on French words meaning sensation. Stupid mistakes that betray the true origins. The naughty words, the complete and total lack of fear in utter.
Marius. A god. A voice deep, warm and enveloping. In the silence of the world, the universe when the light began to shine, this is the voice that has flooded the time. The voice of the millennia, the voice of rationality and patience. Armand only betrays itself. Alone with him loads of his power.
Daniel. Younger speakers of our day. A thousand words burst. Sarcastic, shrill voice, timbre decided. Slap, do not speak.
David. Your voice is now the port of magic. Betray your strong English accent, and every wrinkle that furrowed your face. But the voice is new, as distorted. Old and young. Dead and still alive.
It's past loves.
Nicki. That voice. The cake is imbued by your words on summer nights. The sensual tone. Erotic. God, how I loved you.
Morgan. The way you laugh. The voice just mentioned, as if I were to tell you a secret always subtle. And then the screams, the anger, uncontrollable anger. Voice that could kill.
I love every item.
I love each of you.
Lestat
