[She is sitting in the empty, drafty boxcar of a train, surrounded by everything she loves in this world, except one.
Come back.
Her grandfather is here. His face is so familiar, so sweet; she knows every wrinkle and laugh line in it when he smiles. He is the last of her living family, except that he isn't, because everyone in this boxcar is her family. The Speakers are her family, her collective family, each and every one of them a part of her.
Come back.
The train is bound for California. In their time, they'll arrive, safe and embraced by the Speakers that have settled there, turning their attentions toward a new, more cutting-edge means of preserving their stories and spreading them to the world. That enclave of progressives is well known among the many traveling bands of their people; they will be welcomed there. There will be so many Speakers there, in California.
Come back.
They'll leave New Orleans to the vampires. To Dracula, or to the vacuum of power he has left behind among the supernatural community. They have saved the story of his wife, that future generations will know. They have done what they came to do.
Come back.
Every one of them, each and every one of them, is carrying the story of Lisa Tepes, and it will be carried and saved forever, in the collective memory of the Speakers. All of the Speakers. Every one of the Speakers.
Come back
The stories will not mention her son, alone in a townhouse wondering if Sypha Belnades ever found his letter, or if he will ever hear a reply to begin with.
Beneath her, the machinery of the train gives a mighty heave; they're connecting up the cars, she surmises, and most of her people automatically take a seat if they had been standing, used to these particulars of travel and already knowing how to adapt in response to them, to keep from falling.
She knows, too, because this is her life. Her world. She is one of the Speakers, and has always been one of the Speakers, and will always be one of the Speakers.
(Except that to Adrian Tepes, son of Dracula and Lisa, she was just Sypha Belnades.)
She looks at her grandfather, and the warmth in his expression. She'll miss him, bitterly and yet —
And yet she's on her feet in an instant, moving over to his side, sitting with him and taking his hands and forgetting all about the letter with her name on it, with Adrian's. He looks at her and she tries to memorize his face in the few moments she has, and with all her courage she tells him, I can't, I cannot go west, I have to stay —
And before she can even find words to explain, he shakes his head and smiles and says softly, that vampire boy?
no subject
Come back.
Her grandfather is here. His face is so familiar, so sweet; she knows every wrinkle and laugh line in it when he smiles. He is the last of her living family, except that he isn't, because everyone in this boxcar is her family. The Speakers are her family, her collective family, each and every one of them a part of her.
Come back.
The train is bound for California. In their time, they'll arrive, safe and embraced by the Speakers that have settled there, turning their attentions toward a new, more cutting-edge means of preserving their stories and spreading them to the world. That enclave of progressives is well known among the many traveling bands of their people; they will be welcomed there. There will be so many Speakers there, in California.
Come back.
They'll leave New Orleans to the vampires. To Dracula, or to the vacuum of power he has left behind among the supernatural community. They have saved the story of his wife, that future generations will know. They have done what they came to do.
Come back.
Every one of them, each and every one of them, is carrying the story of Lisa Tepes, and it will be carried and saved forever, in the collective memory of the Speakers. All of the Speakers. Every one of the Speakers.
Come back
The stories will not mention her son, alone in a townhouse wondering if Sypha Belnades ever found his letter, or if he will ever hear a reply to begin with.
Beneath her, the machinery of the train gives a mighty heave; they're connecting up the cars, she surmises, and most of her people automatically take a seat if they had been standing, used to these particulars of travel and already knowing how to adapt in response to them, to keep from falling.
She knows, too, because this is her life. Her world. She is one of the Speakers, and has always been one of the Speakers, and will always be one of the Speakers.
(Except that to Adrian Tepes, son of Dracula and Lisa, she was just Sypha Belnades.)
She looks at her grandfather, and the warmth in his expression. She'll miss him, bitterly and yet —
And yet she's on her feet in an instant, moving over to his side, sitting with him and taking his hands and forgetting all about the letter with her name on it, with Adrian's. He looks at her and she tries to memorize his face in the few moments she has, and with all her courage she tells him, I can't, I cannot go west, I have to stay —
And before she can even find words to explain, he shakes his head and smiles and says softly, that vampire boy?
She hadn't even known that he knew.]