[ As Lestat spoke, Ignacio took the time to pamper and massage his other foot. Carefully lifting from the water, brushing it down, smoothing it out, rubbing the sweet oils into it as he massaged each and every muscle. It was methodical, practiced, so he did not need to look- his eyes remained fixated on Lestat's beautiful face.

There was a flicker on his face when Lestat used the word 'man', it was a look of hostility that was not towards Lestat but rather the word itself. It was the only lapse in his otherwise enchanted gaze. ]

You paint a glorious picture with your words, mi amor, I am honored. And it is true, I was yours the moment you saw me, and you were mine the moment that I saw you. I often lose hours of my day reading your books, absorbing every detail of the depth of your writing. You certainly do me justice.

Though, I must beg of you to never refer to me as a man. Do you understand why?