Work Text:
12th October
My dear, dear Mina,
I write you this letter so that you may read it when this terrible thing has gone from you, and you are once again free in your own mind. I have been keeping in my journal a record of all that has happened, which at present due to the promise I made to you I must only share with you in part, but which someday I will tell you in full. I know this access to information on a need-to-know basis is trying for you, and I am proud of you for recognizing the need and proposing it yourself. And I wish to apologize for keeping you out of the planning process earlier, which I see now may have done more harm than good. If it helps, my reasoning was that you were grieving the loss of Lucy, and had been so kind to me in avoiding certain topics during my recovery from brain fever. I suppose I thought I was returning the favor in avoiding telling you things that would only cause you pain. It was in retrospect a poor decision, though, and I am sorry. But there is more I wish to say to you.
If you are reading this, we succeeded in our goal. I know not what consequences may follow, but if I give you this letter I know that for you and I, at least, the trouble is, to all appearances, over. And yet I know well that the pain is by no means gone. I cannot say whether you will be as affected as I was—though in truth I doubt it, as you are far stronger than I, I will freely admit—but if you are, or however you may be affected, know that I am here, and that whatever care you need I will gladly give. You cared for me during my time of need, now let it be my turn. I know you worry about such things, but you could never be a burden to me. You need not be useful at all times to be loved.
And you will recover. As I said, you are strong. You can get through this, and though life may never be the same, it will continue. Cut off a limb of a tree, and it scabs over and the tree keeps growing. So will we get on with our lives in spite of whatever this monster can do.
One more thing. I know you, which means I know some part of you probably blames yourself for what happened. Nonsense. No part of these horrors was in any way your fault. My dear, you read my record of my time in the castle. You saw what those she-devils did to me, the things they caused me to think and feel. You never blamed me for that, and I implore you not to blame yourself for something that is certainly no more your doing. I see how hard you fight the monster, whenever you can. I heard you ask me to promise to end your life should his grip on you grow too strong, and—God help me—I promised. I know you are doing and have done everything you can. Take comfort in that knowledge.
My love, do you trust me? Then trust me now. You will be all right. Life will go on. Someday, this will all be just a horrible memory, as distant as a long-ago nightmare. And I will be with you for as long as it is within my power to be.
Love always,
Jonathan
P.S. Why do I not tell you this now, directly? I know the monster has a grip on your mind, unwilling on your part though it is. I fear if I try to comfort you with reasoned thoughts, they will be rebuked from a source I cannot hear to argue with. When you read this, though, your mind will be your own, and you may evaluate my statements on your own terms.
P.P.S. I rose before dawn to write this, as we must catch a train at 6:30. This letter would otherwise have been longer, and there is more I wish I could have said, but I fear I am out of time. I love you.