[ He still doesn't like the idea of rooming with an unmarried woman, but needs must.
There are about a dozen letters in all, some short and some long. Most are normal, as normal as letters written to a dead man by a vampire hunter can be. They detail the daily events of the household, Juliet's recovery from her own injuries, the birth of her nephews (twins! just as you thought they might be), the misadventures of various dogs.
As time passes and she's clearly recovered, they start to detail her work. How her family have taken her away from the mediation work, because a reputation as Dracula's killer has rendered her a little too intimidating for it. How instead she's been focusing on her other work - the study of naturally-born night creature populations. These letters are filled with painstakingly detailed ink drawings of the creatures she's been studying, ones that are somewhat ruined by the fact that the labels on those drawings are being used to point out 'cute nose, probably good to boop' or 'good wings, very flappy'.
A year passes in letter form. Then two. The letters sent around the anniversary of Alucard's sleep are always a little melancholy. By the end of the third year- ]
I don't understand. The speakers say that you are whole once more, and yet no force I can muster will wake you.
I spoke with their elder when they examined you, and he told me that the body sometimes makes itself weak to protect the mind, that perhaps you cannot wake because your body wishes to keep you from the sorrow you have endured. That you will not wake unless you have something to wake for. So I suppose that I am addressing this to your foolish body-
Times are kind, now. We are happy. The winter is mild and the storehouses are full and the house warm and full of love. The boys are old enough now to have begun roughhousing with each other and the dogs (and me, when they feel confident, but not yet their mother or Enid) and they seem to be enjoying that immensely. Work brings me to see the most fascinating creatures. I do not doubt the depth of the sorrow that you are protecting yourself from, not for a moment, but I know that there is joy enough here to temper it.
With love, with all the love the world can bear to hold, Ton Lapin
[ That is the second-last letter. The last is dated a few months later. ]
Mon Loup,
I think perhaps you knew. This was why you didn't wake, wasn't it? It wasn't that there was not joy enough for you at the time, no, it was that you could sense what would come. You could sense even before the dogs did. You would not wake only to suffer another loss.
I am sorry for not understanding sooner.
My sisters and I have made arrangements. We have moved you to the hold. Enid has altered the books - I know, I know, believe that she hates this terrible sacrifice more than you do - any of her successors will read that you have been in the possession of our house since the time of our ancestor Leon, and that it is not our place to question why he brought you here. When the boys begin their education next year, they will learn that Dracula and his son alike were brought low by my hand. They will tell this to their own sons and daughters, so that any search for you leads to nothing.
I know that you will wake, one day. I know that you are stronger than the sorrow you are protecting yourself from, that it will not hold you captive forever.
I wish you all the happiness in the world when you do, my most precious love. Ton Lapin.
no subject
[ He still doesn't like the idea of rooming with an unmarried woman, but needs must.
There are about a dozen letters in all, some short and some long. Most are normal, as normal as letters written to a dead man by a vampire hunter can be. They detail the daily events of the household, Juliet's recovery from her own injuries, the birth of her nephews (twins! just as you thought they might be), the misadventures of various dogs.
As time passes and she's clearly recovered, they start to detail her work. How her family have taken her away from the mediation work, because a reputation as Dracula's killer has rendered her a little too intimidating for it. How instead she's been focusing on her other work - the study of naturally-born night creature populations. These letters are filled with painstakingly detailed ink drawings of the creatures she's been studying, ones that are somewhat ruined by the fact that the labels on those drawings are being used to point out 'cute nose, probably good to boop' or 'good wings, very flappy'.
A year passes in letter form. Then two. The letters sent around the anniversary of Alucard's sleep are always a little melancholy. By the end of the third year- ]
I don't understand. The speakers say that you are whole once more, and yet no force I can muster will wake you.
I spoke with their elder when they examined you, and he told me that the body sometimes makes itself weak to protect the mind, that perhaps you cannot wake because your body wishes to keep you from the sorrow you have endured. That you will not wake unless you have something to wake for. So I suppose that I am addressing this to your foolish body-
Times are kind, now. We are happy. The winter is mild and the storehouses are full and the house warm and full of love. The boys are old enough now to have begun roughhousing with each other and the dogs (and me, when they feel confident, but not yet their mother or Enid) and they seem to be enjoying that immensely. Work brings me to see the most fascinating creatures. I do not doubt the depth of the sorrow that you are protecting yourself from, not for a moment, but I know that there is joy enough here to temper it.
With love, with all the love the world can bear to hold,
Ton Lapin
[ That is the second-last letter. The last is dated a few months later. ]
Mon Loup,
I think perhaps you knew. This was why you didn't wake, wasn't it? It wasn't that there was not joy enough for you at the time, no, it was that you could sense what would come. You could sense even before the dogs did. You would not wake only to suffer another loss.
I am sorry for not understanding sooner.
My sisters and I have made arrangements. We have moved you to the hold. Enid has altered the books - I know, I know, believe that she hates this terrible sacrifice more than you do - any of her successors will read that you have been in the possession of our house since the time of our ancestor Leon, and that it is not our place to question why he brought you here. When the boys begin their education next year, they will learn that Dracula and his son alike were brought low by my hand. They will tell this to their own sons and daughters, so that any search for you leads to nothing.
I know that you will wake, one day. I know that you are stronger than the sorrow you are protecting yourself from, that it will not hold you captive forever.
I wish you all the happiness in the world when you do, my most precious love.
Ton Lapin.