Finally, one night when he unwrapped the ragged covering, he had seen the contours of a human face. So this is what
he looked like, was it?
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At dusk, he roamed through the thick crowds in Omonia Square and no one paid him any mind.
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Not even when he'd heard the Vampire Lestat did he remember. The character merely fascinated him...
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It wasn't merely emotion; it was human ambition of a particular sort. The Vampire Lestat...
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He still had a human perspective. That no one could deny. He could feel human pain...
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Each evening as he awakened, he found himself listening to voices from all over the world.
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Then one night in the heart of the Plaka, with its glaring lights and noisy taverns, he saw other blood drinkers hurrying through the crowds.
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Then he tracked them through the steep streets, in and out of one dancing place after another...
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Two males and a female in scant black silk garments, the woman's feet strapped painfully into high heeled shoes.
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But as he drew nearer, as he sent out his silent yet exuberant greeting...
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- they turned and looked at him with undisguised terror. They fled.
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He stood rigid and silent, feeling a sharp pain he had not known before. Then a curious and terrible thing happened.
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He went after them till he had them in sight again. He became angry, really angry. Damn you. Punish you that you hurt me!
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And lo and behold he felt a sudden sensation in his forehead, a cold spasm just behind the bone. Out of him, a power seemed to leap as if it were an invisible tongue.
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Instantly it penetrated the hindmost of the fleeing trio, the female, and her body burst into flames.
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Ye gods! He had done this! In grief and terror, he stood staring down at her empty clothes...
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The next night upon awakening, he listened for them.
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But the vampire pair, stunned with grief and fear, sat together, staring at the open door as he peered in.
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I come in peace. I only wish to speak with you. Nothing shall anger me. I come in... love.
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Then suddenly one of them rose from the table, and both gave a spontaneous and horrid cry.
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The blood drinkers were in flames, dying, caught in a hideous dance with twisted arms and legs.
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No, couldn't have done it, couldn't. He let the mortals push him and shove him out of the way.
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And then in a moment of violent understanding he knew that he had not done it. Because he saw the being who had!
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He remembered everything -  everything he had ever seen or been or known.
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But it was finished. The alleyway was empty. She was gone.
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For hours he wandered the dark back streets.
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Unnoticed he sank down on a bench in the flickering dimness, and he let his tears flow.
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Madness did not come to him, neither did forgetfulness. He was wandering the centuries, revisiting the places he had known with tender thoughtless intimacy.
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'Damn you, my sovereign!' he whispered. 'Damn you into hell for what you did, to all of us!'
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And then he went upwards, rising within seconds above the clouds. Now would come the greatest test of this magnificent gift...
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