[ Intruding into John's thoughts is a bad idea in the same way that swimming across a whirlpool is a bad idea. All Armand has to go on is the look on his face, the all too mortal lines that bracket his eyes, the softness of his mouth. The steady beat of his heart. ]

An eternity of life. Passion, love. Loneliness. Violence. Suffering, pain. Watching those around you die, or go mad, or succumb to the fire. You know this. What is there to be jealous of?