Chapter Text
SLAM!
The door shut uncharacteristically loud behind Victor, shaking the door frame a bit.
Usually, he valued his quiet and polite image, but today, he truly couldn’t help it. This evening, he was in an unusually excited mood.
His dinner with Andrew ended well, with Andrew talking quietly about different types of flowers and, oddly enough, epitaphs. The conversation made all the sweeter with the tea Andrew preferred, its taste still clung soothingly to his tongue.
Andrew even said they could have breakfast together!
Victor opened his mailbag, his original postman’s bag and dumped all the letters onto his desk in a messy pile.
Also uncharacteristic of him.
Again, he couldn’t help it.
Because today was a wonderful day.
Today Victor had letters, letters to deliver.
And within those letters, were a bounty of secrets.
The Postman finally got his purpose back.
Victor sorted the pile in front of him efficiently, hands following familiar and comfortable motions. The satisfying sound of shuffling paper filled his quiet room.
Previously, such sorting was primarily for optimizing his mailing route, ensuring he could get his job done in a timely manner. Wick often helped him with this portion if there were any last minute hurdles, but it never hurt to prepare.
Of course, there was the mail he delivered for his secondary job.
Well, in the manor, there wasn’t a reason for him to consider either of those variables.
Now, he got to indulge in his favorite kind of sorting.
Sorting which letters he wanted to take a peek into.
Usually, he stuck to forgotten letters that nobody wanted, but here, there were only precious letters. That made this letter sorting all the more exciting.
In his previous life, no matter where he went, people avoided and ignored him. Yet, no matter how hard they tried, they couldn’t stop their trusted postman from opening their letters.
To be honest, he wanted to carefully pry every letter in the pile open, but everyone was expecting their letters in the morning. Victor only had so much time to pry through these letters and he would look a mess if he didn’t sleep properly. Only his best presentation for his first day back on letter deliveries! Thus tonight, he would only sort through the most interesting ones.
Nervously, he set Andrew’s letters to the side. If Andrew didn’t send him a letter, it would bring down the mood, and he had to enjoy what little joys he could take.
Most of the letters quickly went to the “leave alone” pile, being sent between survivors who frequently spent time together which didn’t warrant any urgent investigation. Nobody really needed to peek into a letter to know that Kurt enjoyed rambling to Naib and William the most, one reluctant and the other eager to listen.
Out of the hunters, only Violetta sent letters, ones to Margeretha, Mike, Murro, and Smiley Face. Thinking back, he did recall they all came from the same circus, so that odd group sending each other letters sounded about right. However, he wasn’t sure if the clown could speak in more than shrieks and cackles.
Now that he got to take a closer look, he saw that William’s large pile was a neatly wrapped stack of flyers requesting everyone in the manor to join him for a game of rugby in a few days' time. Usually, he would run around asking, but Victor supposed that sending everyone a flyer was more efficient. Surprisingly, there were even enough flyers for all of the hunters.
The last surprise was that Helena wrote a letter to Galatea, who had just arrived. Victor had never seen them together before, he was sorely tempted to read that letter.
A peek wouldn’t hurt.
He carefully peeled the envelope open, careful not to damage the wax seal.
The letter was standard, a bit familiar for two women who were supposedly strangers. At least Helena herself seemed aware, wondering if she and the sculptor had met somewhere previously, even if it was in a dream.
Hmm, meeting someone in the manor in a dream. It sounded more like a plot out of one of the romance novels he read. Still, it would be lovely for such a dream to come true.
Victor wondered if Galatea would even bother replying to the letter; he couldn’t imagine such an offputting woman associating with quiet Helena.
Then again, Galatea had shown him such a chillingly gleeful smile, Helena would probably be better off if she never got a reply, dream meeting or no dream meeting.
At the bottom of his pile, were the letters that were first dropped into his mailbox.
The ones from Tracy, Emma, Mike, and Andrew.
Tracy wrote a letter to Emma, which he was sure was full of emotion that would fly over Emma’s head.
There was also a letter to old Burke.
The old man was gruff, but he supposed that Tracy would try and pester him about how his walls functioned, not that the man would respond. Though considering how often Tracy trailed after Emma and continuously worked to improve George’s functions, she wasn’t one to give up easily.
Those letters he could skip.
He held up the two letters from Mike.
Truthfully, he had become more curious about Mike as of late, especially with his interactions between Margaretha and Murro.
His fingers went towards the seal, but as he moved along the envelope, he felt something nside.
He had no idea of what Mike was capable of, it could either be a dangerous substance or an asinine prank.
Either way, this letter was a liability if he didn’t want to get caught.
It would really be a pain if Mike left a trap that would mark him somehow. Kind old Murro would let it pass, Victor could only hope the other recipient would too.
Cursing Mike, he put those letters back in the pile. Out of spite, he told himself he’d check who the other person Mike wrote to later.
On to the next batch.
Emma wrote a letter to practically everyone in the manor, and pretty much everyone who sent more than one letter sent her one as well. They were delicately scented with perfume. Each of her envelopes had wax which was pressed with a small dried flower or single flower petal, a unique challenge if he wanted to peek at what she wrote.
A challenge, he of course would take.
Victor already knew which two letters he wanted to read.
A letter to Emily, decorated with blue wax and a white rose petal.
A letter to Andrew, decorated with yellow wax and a white carnation petal, the bright yellow wax already stained the poor petal yellow.
Taking a deep breath, he opened the letter to Emily first, seeing if the letter corresponded with their previous conversation.
As expected, most of it was no different than Emma’s usual idealized praises for Emily. Admiring ramblings that were almost a bit childish in his opinion.
One bit stuck out to him.
Emma cares for you and wants to protect you. Please, it’s truly what I want to do.
How odd, what was the difference between Emma and “I”?
Most of the time she wrote, Emma referred to herself in the third person, an odd habit he vaguely noted the first time they wrote to each other in his notebook. Nobody he ever met had written letters in third person, which was notable.
Now that he thought about it, didn’t she write to him in his notebook?
That notebook, he still had that notebook!
Not that he ever got rid of anything anyone wrote on. From the notes his uncle left telling him he would be gone for a few days to the letters of a deceased poet to a lover.
Victor opened a well-organized drawer and rummaged around, looking for the notebook he used that day. He pulled the notebook out, and flipped to a specific page.
Emily is my savior, I adore her with all my heart.
Hm, did both Emma and “I” have different relationships with Emily? Or did they have differing thoughts?
Considering the residents of the manor, it wouldn’t be uncommon for someone else to reside in Emma’s mind. Why, one day another version of Emma might burst out of her skull and join the masses of hunters.
Then again, he never got a malicious air from Emma.
He never studied or read about psychology himself, but he did hear of cases where patients were so mentally broken that their minds fractured into multiple pieces. If he thought back, he did read a tear stained letter from a mother to a doctor that was addressed to a long shut down asylum. When he looked into it, he learned the asylum shut down long before the woman longingly sent letters for a child that no longer existed.
Just broken minds writing broken letters.
Yet, as far as he could tell, Emma Woods was a happy girl.
Victor chuckled to himself.
For both his and Emma’s sakes, he hoped that Emily would reply.
That was a series of letters he would love to observe.
Though, of course, there was the more worrying potential series of letters. The inevitable letter exchange between Emma and Andrew.
A bit more hastily this time, he peeled open the letter, a small chip of yellow wax fell onto his table, unnoticed.
Victor let out a little sigh of relief, while the letter was kind, it wasn’t as affectionate as the one to Emily.
If he had to guess, Emma probably wrote a polite letter to each of her friends, with Emily getting the only special one.
Probably the same format for each.
First, a kind introduction.
Second, words of admiration and encouragement.
Last, an invitation to spend time together.
He didn’t need to peek into her other letters to know this.
For Andrew, it was an invitation to have sweets in the garden.
Well, that was a common area, he could coincidentally be in the garden at the same time.
He had little interest in her other letters, and he was eagerly anticipating reading a very specific letter. So, he left the rest of Emma’s letters to sort later.
Now, for the other side of the conversation.
Hands shaking with excitement and anticipation, Victor picked up the letter Andrew wrote to Emma.
His eyes scanned over the slightly yellowed paper, the wax like a fine jewel dropped in a pile of hay. Indulgently, he brushed a finger along the soft edges of the envelope. The paper used was low quality, probably made by someone’s wife while juggling a toddler on her hip. Made well enough to sell for enough coins to make ends meet.
At first glance, the wax seal was the same, purple and yellow. Though now that he took a closer look, the yellow was replaced with an elegant gold. It was a proper wax seal, far better than one made with candle droplets.
When he got the seal off, he realized that Andrew had a separate envelope and letter now instead of folding his letter into an envelope. There was a huge difference in the quality of the envelope and the letter paper itself.
The corner of his mouth twitched, Andrew had nicer letter paper with a lovely ivy leaf border, exactly the same as the one Emma used.
Even before reading the letter, Victor could tell that Andrew had spoken to someone (to Emma) and gotten supplies (and advice!) from someone else. Though he must have spent at least some time on his own, Andrew was far too shy and sheepish to write a letter to Emma in front of Emma.
Heart beating against his ribcage, Victor opened the letter.
Dearest Emma Woods,
Thank you for all your kindness. I cannot believe there is someone with a heart as beautiful and kind as yours.
My brightest moments at this manor are the ones I spend with you. I thank God every day that he let me meet you.
~~~
Always yours friend,
Andrew Kreiss
The letter was short, but the emotional weight was immense.
It took everything he had not to crumble the paper with his grip.
What a wonderfully thoughtful letter.
This letter had almost no mistakes, that was already a clear sign of the effort that went into it.
The words were all a bit shaky, only the slightest bit. As if the writer was triple checking every stroke before setting his pen down on the paper. Dragging it slowly so that he could ensure each drop of ink fell in the right place. A diligent effort, but the writer’s inexperience with writing showed in awkward spacing and crooked letters.
Then there were those hesitation marks at the bottom, indicating Andrew had a few more he wanted to write but couldn’t bring himself to.
Not that he needed to!
Those words! They were far too intimate for a man to write a woman, he’d seen less romantic letters exchanged between courting couples.
His annoyance suddenly waned, oh, but how poetic Andrew was!
Anyone would swoon if a shy man told them their presence was the brightest one of his day! On top of that, to say that he thanked God for letting them into his life.
And to almost sign “Always yours”, that large ink blot wasn’t hiding anything!
Andrew has known Emma for only a few mere months and he already was willing to declare himself Emma’s?
What a wonderful letter, how deeply tempted he was to keep that letter for himself! He just had to figure out what excuse to tell Emma and Andrew to explain the letter’s disappearance.
“Roo,” Wick bumped her nose against Victor’s leg, forcing him back into reality.
Ah, of course, it wouldn’t be appropriate for a postman to keep a letter meant for someone else.
Victor folded Andrew’s letter, and his own troublesome emotions, back up.
Smiling again, he went to sort the rest of Andrew’s letters.
One to Aesop, predictable.
Next, a letter to Doctor Dyers, not surprising considering how often he went to her infirmary.
The final letter.
Victor’s heart was still, he learned long ago to never expect things for himself. It’s something he needed to remind himself as of late, he’d been hoping and desiring far too much for his liking.
Now, who did Andrew write his final letter to?
Victor Grantz
“Victor Grantz?” Victor whispered, in a whisper despite being the only person in the room. His eyes stared down at the letter. “Victor Grantz!”
It had been ages since he heard his own voice above a whisper, an ugly rasping sound that grated his ears.
Covering his mouth, he made himself read the name on the envelope again, in case he read it wrong.
Victor Grantz.
Victor, Victor, Victor Grantz.
“Yay!” Victor jumped up, knocking his chair over, the sudden loud sound sending Wick scurrying to hide under his blankets.
Immediately, Victor covered his mouth again.
Andrew wrote him another letter?
He sniffed the paper, checking to see if it was real or some cruel manor prank. It smelled wonderfully of worn out paper, pleasantly earthy, with a hint of ink.
Next, he crinkled it by his ear, simultaneously testing its feel and sound. The thin folded envelope paper made no sound, and he had to be careful with it so that he wouldn’t break the wax seal. The higher quality letter paper made a slight wobbling sound when he bent it, gently of course.
Now, for a final test, one he rarely indulged in.
His tongue stuck out, delicately touching the paper, savoring the dry sensation. He even dared skim his tongue over the shaky letters, but not to the point he’d smear Andrew’s hard work. Tastewise, far better than that tea, the taste of inked paper was a delicious feast.
Victor had to read those precious words first and preserve them forever.
Taking a deep breath, he prepared his mind to read another wonderful letter from Andrew.
Dear Mr. Grantz and Wick the Dog,
Thank you for your previous letter and new paper. The coffee scent is pleasant. I also appreciate this change in the game letters.
I also pet Wick just as you requested, I hope she finds my work is satisfying.
Please take care of yourself.
With gratitude,
Andrew Kreiss
A letter for him! Another wonderful letter for him from Andrew.
On top of that, he got the same care that Emma did, with the carefully drawn strokes and neater appearance. In fact, there weren’t any mistakes in Andrew's letter to Victor.
Well, he didn’t mind Andrew’s mistakes in his previous letter, but to imagine Andrew carefully checking a dictionary as he wrote this very letter that he held… Victor couldn’t help but feel a bit giddy.
And the comment on petting Wick!
That meant Andrew read his letter! His letter!
He even took the liberty to count the amount of words, fifty three versus fifty-five more than the one to Emma! Usually he’d prefer quality over quantity, but he had to take the wins he could get.
Victor clutched the letter close to his chest, and stumbled back onto his bed, curling into Wick. He held the letter in front of her.
“Wick, we got a letter,” he whispered. His fingertip brushed across his name, written in Andrew’s unsteady scrawl. He held her paw over her name. “This part is for you.”
Victor buried his nose in his puppy’s fur, taking in her familiar scent.
In his hand, he clutched the letter from Andrew.
The excitement of the day caught up to him, and Victor fell into the deepest sleep he had in ages.
In his dreams, he joyfully found a letter from a special person amongst fiery ashes. Even as his skin blistered and burned away, he held that person’s letters tight to his chest, right over his heart.
His dream self whispered that person’s name, like a mantra. There was no mistaking who that special person was.
AbplmZxoi! AbplmZxoi. AbplmZxoi?
The next morning, Wick woke him up with a few long licks to his face, bright and earlier than anyone else in the manor would.
He woke up feeling warm and fuzzy, vague memories from his dream warming him to his fingertips. Unfortunately, he couldn’t remember why that dream made him smile.
Fingertips that still clutched the letter from Andrew, a letter he read again before rolling out of bed.
Victor shamefully realized he had slept in his day clothes, luckily he woke up early enough to still get the mail out on time.
After freshening up in his bathroom, Victor sorted out the last few envelopes, namely the ones from Emma and Mike that he set aside. While he wanted to reread Andrew’s letter again, he had a job to do.
Getting letters into his bag was easy work, he’d start at the rooms of the first survivors and end with the most first hunters.
He shivered a bit, he’d never wandered into the other side of the manor before. Reasonably, he knew most of the hunters weren’t violent outside of the games, but he still couldn’t shake all of his nerves.
As predicted, Emma had written a letter to a good portion of the manor. It wasn’t hard work to sort those into his load. She even sorted them into alphabetical order by first name.
Towards the end of the pile, he stopped over one letter.
Victor Grantz
It was written in Emma’s pretty girlish handwriting, sealed with red wax and an iris petal.
What was this? An unthinking gesture from a cheerful girl? A cryptic hint? A taunt?
Well, the envelope alone wouldn’t tell him anything further, the only right thing to do would be to read the letter.
Would it be appropriate to read now? Or should he do his job first?
After some deliberation, Victor decided that he could allow himself to finally experience the joy of returning “home” to a letter.
For good measure, he resealed Andrew’s letter so that he could pretend it came as a surprise in the mail.
Now all that was left was Mike’s second letter, and he wondered who it was for.
To Vic
Victor sat there in shock, another letter? For him? Why would Mike want to write a letter to him?
He took the three envelopes and stared at his name in ink, dumbfounded.
At least one of them had to be a mistake, he rubbed the name on Mike’s envelope, in case he was seeing things and a smudge just so happened to look like his name.
“Woof!” Wick scampered around his feet and clawed at the door.
Ah! He’d taken too long and now he was late! Victor shoved the last envelopes into their place and ran out the door, preparing to deliver all the letters.
It was far too early for anyone to be awake, so there wasn’t anyone in the hallway. Just the growing sunrise and bird song he loved so much.
Victor closed his eyes and pretended he was arriving at his destination, ringing his bell to notify the locals that their mail had arrived. Smiling masks came up to him, faces with various unique expressions left him.
When he opened his eyes, all he saw was an empty hallway.
Oh well, the mail didn’t deliver itself.
Unsurprisingly, Emma received the most letters, and since she was one of the planners, she already had a homemade mailbox hanging outside her door. It was green with flowers painted all over it, in the center was a small painting of a family, undoubtedly the family Emma left behind when she got trapped here.
Unconsciously, his hand reached out and brushed against the painting. He gasped when he felt wet paint against his fingertip.
The mother’s face became a smudge.
Victor looked at his hand, the mother’s inked smile stared back at him.
Smile unfaltering, he callously rubbed the paint off on his pant leg.
What a shame, parents in the painting were surely missing their precious daughter. Someone out there remembered her and missed her, and she felt the same way.
Nobody would forget her. Whoever loved her was probably still looking for her.
Victor easily shook off any lingering mental weight storing them someplace else, and continued with his work.
This system was still new, so there weren’t many letters to exchange yet. William’s bulk invitations were a pleasant load, letting him comfortably fall into a rhythm.
While it was true that not everyone was fully aware of the new letter sending system, it didn’t mean nobody was prepared.
Emily prepared a simple box, practical and small, just enough to serve its purpose without taking up too much space.
Tracy had a hanging mailbox, similar to Emma’s, but made out of metal. There was even a little mechanism that made a miniature BonBon open the flap for him to drop the letters into.
Andrew, most charmingly, had an old brown pouch with faded embroidered flowers on it. Clearly a memento he had brought from the outside. As he placed Andrew’s mail inside, he brushed the embroidery. Seeing that there was a loose thread, he delicately pinched it, and pulled it out.
He was deeply honored that Andrew used such a special keepsake as his letter pouch.
Before moving on, he made sure his carefully folded handkerchief was still in a separate compartment in his bag.
Nobody likes a lazy sloth, he still had work to do!
It made sense that some of Emma’s closest friends made letter boxes, Helen, Demi, and William had them too, all showcasing bits of their personalities.
In comparison, his own door was plain and empty.
Then again, he wasn’t expecting to receive any letters.
Maybe he should ask someone to help him make one, he wasn’t really sure how to portray Victor Grantz.
All he could do for now was he did what he did with anyone who didn’t have a mailbox.
He slipped them under the door.
One door amongst many, and at this time of day, it was lonely.
When delivering mail for the post office or that man, he would take any chance he could to observe others when they opened their letters.
The easiest way was when he rang the bell, they came outside, and he their letters to them. If he was lucky, they opened their letters right away within Victor’s line of sight. Sometimes, when times got desperate he wasn’t above peeking through windows to satiate his curiosity.
Perhaps he could push the delivery times back so that he could ring his copper bell again..
Well, he’d accept just delivering letters for now.
The hunter side of the manor was much lighter work, most survivors were reluctant to interact with them and most of them were rather solitary in nature. It wasn’t until he almost finished his route that he saw another person.
Slowly, the Hell Ember’s door creaked open, and the hulking masked man peered outside.
Seeing that Wick still had her tongue lolled out, guard down, Victor forced himself to calm down.
It really was hard to tell what the other man was thinking underneath that mask. Rumor had it that he was shoved into it by force for disobeying the manor’s laws.
Hand barely shaking, Victor handed William’s flyer over to the man.
“A-An,” the man’s voice was rough and strained, forming the words slowly, painfully. “Anything else?”
Victor rapidly shook his head.
He didn’t even know the man could speak.
Once that door closed, Victor quietly sprinted back to his room, eager to read his letters, a skip in his step.
When he opened his door, he was delighted to see his three letters still waiting for him, undeniable real.
Did others get to experience this all the time? How lucky they were!
In the past, it really made a strange emotion bile up in his throat.
That wasn’t a problem today though.
First thing, he reread Andrew’s letter, delightfully going through the motions of getting that unexpected letter. The feeling of elation wasn’t nearly as good, but it still warmed his heart. If Andrew wrote him another letter, he would control himself so that he could experience the full delight of coming home to a letter.
Placing that letter safely with its predecessor, he moved on to the next.
To be honest, he was curious about why Mike’s letter was so lumpy, so he opened that one first.
The envelope was a pale yellow and a slight gloss, however, the wax seal was a plain red. It did have an official seal, for someone initialed B.M. Most likely Mike’s father.
Whatever Mike stuffed in there was trapped inside the folded letter, reluctantly, Victor unfolded it.
A puff of confetti and glitter puffed out, getting all over his face, shirt, and desk. Wick even sneezed when she sniffed a bit that got on the floor. Victor gave it a few brushes, but the sparkles wouldn’t wipe off.
Just a harmless prank, annoyingly, it was one that would follow him the rest of the day.
Dear Vic,
You can’t avoid me now!
Meet me in the gardens this afternoon, I want to show you and Wick a new trick! If you don’t show up, I’ll find you and make a big fuss about it so everyone will look and stare. Be a good boy and meet me there!
See you soon!
Mike Morton
The worst part about the letter was that he knew Mike would make a big show about dragging him out of his room, meaning that he really did have to show up where he was instructed.
From what he knew about Mike, he really shouldn’t be surprised that Mike would send such a simple note that could have been a face-to-face conversation.
Not that he was complaining, he much preferred this over speaking to someone in person.
On top of that, he probably left a glitter trap to laugh and tease Victor about later. No way he was getting this all off unless he changed.
He wrote a quick reply, even giving Mike the dignity of a wax seal, and sent the letter for Wick to drop off at Mike’s door.
With that sorted, he moved onto Emma’s.
Dear Victor,
It has been awhile since we last spoke, I have to properly thank you for all your help, with this fun little project and in our daily lives. Everyone at the manor appreciates the work you do.
How about we spend some time together soon?
By the way, I saw that you have a beautiful iris in your windowsill. As a gardener, I would love to come over and see how it’s doing. I want it to shine just as brightly as its brothers and sisters in the garden outside. It might be lonely!
Regards,
Emma
Victor’s fingers clenched tightly, wrinkling the letter. He could feel his heartbeat throughout his body, even to his fingertips, beating so harshly he could feel it against the paper.
Emma was always a mystery to him, at first he thought of her as a cheerful airhead.
Yet here she was, hinting that she knew he stole an iris from the garden with that line about the flower’s siblings, snatched from the plot of soil it first bloomed in. She knew that he stole that flower, not that it was officially anyone’s property, and as far as he knew, didn’t tell anyone.
All she did was hint that she knew the origins of the flower and invited herself to his room.
The subtle meanings reminded him of his former work, threats hidden behind honey dipped words, cloying and sweet, sealing mouths shut.
And the way she wrote to him, it was entirely different to how she wrote to Emily, or how she wrote when it was about Emily. This letter conveyed the image of a clever woman rather than a wide-eyed ingénue.
Now that he thought about it, she also wrote normally to Andrew.
Two sides of Emma, and no way to tell which version was genuine from what he has so far.
There must be a difference between Emma and “I”, and the answer to that would be intricately woven into Emma’s letters.
Ah, he really should have opened all her letters.
At the very least, he would continue this letter train, seeing what hidden truths Emma hid behind her smile.
What a crafty woman, and just like every other person, she would dance around the truth when they met face-to-face. Only in a letter would she even dare hint at what she actually knew. Some part of him wondered how aware Emma was of her own observations.
When he accepted the letter to the manor, he never expected to meet such an interesting cast of people. Between the games and his newly reinstated postal job, he wouldn’t have time to observe and read the letters of all of them.
Due to that, he’d have to pick and choose.
His former boss was only called Big Daddy.
His coworker was Loudmouth.
Victor Grantz was Postman.
Nicknames were easy when navigating so many affairs, easy to remember and easy to keep an emotional distance from.
The Postman took out a fresh notebook, and wrote three words.
Jester.
Pixie.
Moon.