[She lets him cry, offering him the comfort of plausible denial by staying carefully behind him so that he doesn't have to show her his face, and when he turns around she keeps her eyes closed as he gravitates into her, lets her wrap her arms around him again. It's a little bit gawky, the way he has to bend to fit himself up against her neck, but she would stand on her toes for him for a week without flinching if it were to ease his pain even a fraction, and her focus is solely on making sure he's grounded and anchored as he finds his catharsis.]

You never had the chance to mourn her. Everything that's happened...it came so fast, so soon after.

[And even now, after vanquishing Dracula in this very castle, they've still kept busy, kept moving. Always moving ahead, never pausing to allow all of this to rise up to the surface on its own.]

We can make something for her. For both of them. A memorial.