Chronicling a suicide, as Daniel has put it. An effective goad to Armand's rarely expressed temper. He has a point. Their penthouse is a shrine and a coffin, a tomb for the two of them to wait out the rest of the world, but it is steeped in humanity's trappings nevertheless. Armand is well aware of what they've become, the hermit vampires, shutting themselves off from their own kind, play acting at being the eccentric gay millionaires, becoming something of both worlds and belonging to neither at the same time. It's the price he pays for love. To have Daniel belittle it sets his nerves on edge; to have him acknowledge it, perhaps even pity it, is somehow worse.

He sits back, frowning unhappily. There's a certain irony to Daniel speaking of the unknowable, but Armand has ceased to be amused by it. Part of him wants to shatter those locks and throw open the vault and let it all stream out, if only to have someone to talk to who truly understands him. Another cost measured and paid by his traitorous human heart. He misses Louis with an almost physical ache.

"Have you wondered why you're not afraid of us?" He asks, petty in the way he wants to see Daniel flinch.