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My dearest Andromeda,
I hope this reaches you in one piece. I gave it to Gehrman, but I noticed he had Maria’s rather obsessive dog with him, so I fear that this may become a delicious snack for the canine. I took your advice and finally got a new cat-bed for Elliot…but he still insists on sleeping on my head. Apparently, neither myself nor the new bed are quite as good as sleeping on your lap. Make sure you remember to get enough sleep. You become quite unpredictable when sleep-deprived. I know it’s only for a week, but knowing you’re stuck in the research hall, sleeping in a cot in the corner of some loud patient’s room does concern me greatly. I already told Laurence you should be given your own room. He brushed me off and said you could always share with Maria, if the dog would let you.
Byrgenwerth is the same as ever. I’m now spending half my time teaching the dwindling students, and the other half, listening to Willem’s new theories on the Great Ones, the blood and eyes. You thought I was bad - the old man now has at least thirty jars of eyes scattered around his Lunarium, and they don’t all look human, either. I swear I saw him trying to extract eyes from some poor bird that flew into the window yesterday - don’t tell him I said that.
I’m finishing at lunch on Friday, and I plan to travel to Yharnam on Saturday to restock my writing desk, so I’ll come by the Cathedral and we can have lunch, or dinner, or both. Then you’ll be back home for a few days, before your fortnight of hellish night-shifts begin. I’ve already stocked up on freshly ground coffee and wine, and will ensure the cupboards are full for you to take your pick when you’re home.
Remember not to confuse the blue elixirs with the stimulants this time round - I heard it took almost twenty church hunters to catch and subdue the patients last time. Yes, they’re both blue… Laurence isn’t very imaginative with his concoctions, is he?
All my love,
Micolash
She had stayed up all night, debating it. Sorting through the old letters, reading the comforting words from another time, another life, another Rom. Every letter starts the same, the My dearest Andromeda in the curling, strangely beautiful handwriting, capturing her from the first words, drawing her into a marvellous, private world, where only she matters. Where only he matters. Cross-legged on the floor, surrounded by boxes from her old life…from the days she had once believed Laurence…had left Byrgenwerth - and him, her only love - to help with the research of the Old Blood, at Laurence’s request…they had kept up communication via letters, until the illusion had shattered. And now, she’s back in Byrgenwerth, in her old room, but Micolash isn’t here anymore. He hasn’t been here for years. He left long ago - on the same day he had killed the remaining love that had remained between them.
It had been so simple yet cruel, the way their paths diverted. That he would suddenly see something in Laurence’s theories, right at the moment she began to doubt the Healing Church. That he had gone on to form an entirely new research group for the Healing Church, investigating things she strongly believed should be left well alone. It had hurt so much.
It wasn’t fair. I couldn’t follow Laurence’s path. I had to return to my roots…and now, I’m stuck, by myself. She lets out a long sigh, drawing the attention of her cat, Victor. The ginger cat pads across the collection of letters, flopping down and rolling onto his back, as if telling her that she should stop losing herself in the past, and pet him instead. She rolls her eyes.
‘Where’s Elliot gone? Chasing birds through the window again?’ Rom asks the ginger cat, giving his belly a rub. A dangerous game. It starts out nice, then his claws appear, and I end up with a shredded hand. ‘Yeah, probably. You don’t know, do you? That cat-brain of yours is just completely empty, isn’t it? Well, what do you think? Should I write the letter? Or should I just leave the whole thing alone?’ Still stuck in uncertainty, Rom once again sorts through the letters. She doesn’t know what compelled her to pull out the old boxes, what made her want to see his writing again.
Because I miss him.
No matter how many times she shakes her head and denies it, the fact is, she does miss him. And it’s always so much worse at this time of year. While everyone else would be celebrating the year with their families and friends, she would be all alone, with no-one else to share in her joys. Besides, there’s no way he would ever agree or humour her. He’s surely long-since moved on. He probably has a girlfriend anyway. Or maybe he’s even married. He could even have children of his own at this point. Surrounded by happiness and life, while she sits alone in her cold apartment, surrounded by dusty plants and two cats that compete with each-other over who could knock the most items off the tables and shelves.
Just write the damn letter, Rom. If he ignores it, nothing changes. If he doesn’t… well, we can deal with that when it happens.
Elliot, a black cat with white socks, dashes into the bedroom, wanting to be part of the exciting early-morning activities. Trampling all over the scattered letters, he meows loudly at Victor, before jumping up onto the bed and curling up into a tight ball. Typical. Look at him, rushing around my apartment only to end up on my bed, staring me down from beneath all his fluff. Rom doesn’t know what else to do…continue moping around her apartment? Maybe she should write something? But what would she even say? Does she even have blank paper to write on? She looks around for anything she can use, finally giving up and getting off the floor to search her writing desk instead.
Finally, after pulling open several drawers, she finds some blank paper, and her small bottle of ink and quill. Taking a deep sigh, she settles herself into her armchair, and tries to begin writing.
Micolash,
This letter may seem entirely out of the blue, but I
She pauses. This just sounds terrible. She crosses it out and tries again.
It has been some time since we last spoke- No, no, that wouldn’t work at all. Growing increasingly infuriated with herself, Rom ends up scrapping another piece of paper, struggling to form the words she so sorely longs to communicate. Writing and rewriting, it takes her the rest of the night to finish the letter, and even then, she’s uncertain of it. Spreading her hands across the written letter, she reads it back to herself.
Micolash,
I hope this letter finds you well. The last time we spoke, things did not end well. I would very much like to meet up and talk again - this time of year always reminds me of you, and being stuck in Byrgenwerth brings back all the old, bittersweet memories. As I write this, Victor - yes, named after one of my favourite writers, Victor Hugo, because I’m still just as obsessed with novels and reading as always - my cat has decided to try and help me write, by swiping at my quill. (That’s what all those messy lines are). I still have Elliot as well, although he’s now almost thirteen! But I’ve been caring for him ever since you know. The two cats help with the loneliness.
I would like to meet up with you again, if possible. I have no idea how you spend your days, and it would be good to be able to catch up. Although we may differ in our approaches to the Eldritch Truth, your companionship did mean a great deal to me, and I would love to know that you are managing fine and succeeding in your own endeavours. If this interests you, then perhaps we could meet up at our old favourite spot by the lake, at 9PM on Christmas Eve. I will wait for you, but if you decide not to come, that is also fine. I will be at the meeting place regardless.
Regards and best wishes,
Rom
It isn’t as bad as she thinks, but Rom still feels nervous as she folds up the letter and slides it into a fresh envelope. Well, only thing I can do now is wait and see if he reads it and visits. She’s certain he will ignore it and throw it in the rubbish the instant he realises it’s from her. But there’s no harm in trying, is there? She will find one of her old trusted friends, and get them to take it into Yahar’gul to deliver. At the very least, she could trust Damian to take her letter all the way to Micolash. Whether he reads it or not is a whole other issue.
The next week passes by quietly, Rom deciding to give her apartment a full clean-out. Dodging two overly curious cats determined to trip her up, she moves boxes of old college papers, disused crockery, chipped candle-holders and empty jars outside, to be either thrown on the bonfire or passed over to the gatekeepers - if they could find any use at all for the items. Each day allows her to rearrange the furniture more; adding more space between the couch and the coffee-table, optimising leg-stretch-room underneath her writing desk, even discovering an old, long forgotten bottle of perfume from years ago, tucked away behind a box of candles. Her real motive in the cleaning is to make her flat feel more homely, more alive. She doubts she’ll be able to get a Christmas tree in to decorate, but she can at least buy new coloured glass lanterns to adorn the mantle and bookcases; perhaps even some new artwork to hang on the walls. Her inheritance from her late father, alongside the money Willem keeps giving her every week - despite her protests that she doesn’t pay rent, she doesn’t even pay for food - she decides a good spending spree is what she needs.
And so, on Christmas eve, she unwraps and places her new glass lanterns around the living-room; red and green to signify the Yule and the passing of the winter solstice; a new portrait on the wall, displaying a medley of dreamy, swishing colours, blending together to create a sunset skyline over Yharnam; some new potted plants, with brightly blooming flowers, defying the cold season outside. Elliot sniffs the flowers suspiciously, raising a paw as if to knock the pot down, but Rom gives him a warning glare, and he slowly backs down. Rom shakes her head, picking up the cat and placing him firmly down on the floor.
‘Don’t start knocking everything over when I’ve just put everything up!’ She says to the cat, tickling him behind the ears. ‘Now, we should get some dinner on, shouldn’t we? And maybe I should brush my hair out, and make a little effort.’ Standing up, she heads to the kitchen, looking through the collection of ingredients laid out, considering which ones she wants to use. Maybe some ham, with some cooked vegetables? Not very Christmass-y, but-
KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK!
She nearly jumps out of her skin when she hears the loud knocking at the door. What the hell? Who could that be? Willem couldn’t really walk anymore, and wouldn’t be levitating up the stairs to her apartment… And the only other people in Byrgenwerth right now are the grave-guards and gate-keepers, none of them having any reason to come to her flat, and none of them even knowing where she stays, in the almost-empty library apartments. Feeling slightly concerned, Rom slowly edges towards the door, unlocking it slowly and opening it a crack, trying to peer through the gap to identify the person on the other side. She sees a mess of black hair…a black cloak…but not quite enough to form a full picture.
‘Are you going to let me in, or keep staring at me through the crack?’
Rom freezes at the sound of the voice. It’s like being transported back by over a decade. Even the snarky, snide tone is the same. Rom can hardly believe her ears. Could it really be?
'Micolash?' She asks, surprised by what she's hearing.
'Andromeda? You did invite me here… Didn't you?' He sounds almost confused for a moment, his voice quieting in the way she was once so familiar with. 'I've not come all this way over a mistake, have I?'
Rom practically throws the door open. 'No, not… Not a mistake! I wrote a letter… I… Oh I didn't think you'd read it… probably already moved on, you know? It was a dumb letter…' She bumbles through her words nervously, looking him up and down, in utter disbelief that he stands right there, in front of her. Micolash is wearing his usual black cloak, with a grey scarf wrapped twice around him, his black hair still as unkempt and wild as always, random curly strands sticking out at odd angles. His face is as pasty pale and angular as she remembers, but with more lines, especially around his eyes, which are bordered by black crescents. And his eyes. She remembers them being so grey, like a stormy cloud… But now, his eyes are a bright, light blue-grey, almost shining and sparkling. How could his eyes change colour? She's so distracted by him, that she doesn't even realise he's speaking to her.
'Andromeda… It is quite chilly out here. May I come in? Are you alright? You seem rather… Startled.' He gives her a soft, gentle smile. She can see a briefcase in his hand.
'Oh, uh, yes, of course… I just, I was expecting, you know, the lake, our old meeting spot, and, well, yes sorry it's not much…' Rom stands aside, waving him in, her heart fluttering in her chest, as if she's once-again a lovestruck teenager faced with her crush. She feels herself blushing bright red as Micolash unwinds his scarf and takes off his shoes.
'I decided it would be a bit warmer and more pleasant indoors. Figured you still live in the same apartment, as well. You still have Elliot? That's good. He wouldn't like it in Yahar'gul.' Micolash sits down on the sofa, crossing his legs over one another. 'It's been some time. Seven years? Eight? I've lost track. Admittedly, I was very surprised to receive your letter.'
Rom sits down opposite him. 'Oh, it's been eight years… I think. I've also lost track, honestly. Um. Well, yes… I wasn't sure if it was a good idea… Didn't think you'd even show up… I'm sorry, I've noticed your eyes… They were not so bright before…'
'Ah. Yes. Enlightenment. I've gained insight and enlightenment… In Yahar'gul. We have been… Working to make contact… With the Great Ones. It's very complicated, and honestly, I was more interested in seeing you, like old times…' Micolash clenches his hands together, looking at Rom with a rather deep glance. 'If we discuss the research, and our differing paths, it may not… Go in a direction that is, well, positive.'
'But then, we have little to talk about,' Rom responds, feeling slightly more confident. 'I know we argued a lot before… But I don't want arguing, I wanted a catch up, a good time, like we used to do before… Besides, it's not like I'm doing a lot of interesting things right now, anyway.' And Rom really wants to hear more.
'I suppose… We could talk about some of that… Over a drink or two? I've brought some wine with me. White wine. Your favourite. Unless your taste has changed?’ Micolash reaches down to his bag, opening it and pulling out two bottles of white wine. Rom stands up, rushing to the kitchen to grab glasses, Micolash following her with one bottle of wine. ‘Pop one of them into your ice-box, keep it nice and chilled, yes?’ He asks her, holding the bottle out. ‘And I don’t mind cooking dinner, either. I considered bringing something with me, but since I planned on arriving early, I would probably have caused you more bother by doing that, actually…’ Is Micolash… nervous? Rom thinks so.
‘Oh, no it’s fine! I was just going to have a simple vegetable medley with some sliced roasted ham. Roasted the ham yesterday. There’s enough for you, as well. I’ll get the other bottle chilled. Here, some root vegetables in a bowl over there, and I’ll get some water boiling in the pan.’ Rom quickly busies herself with preparing the food, finding the simple actions soothing and relaxing. Micolash works alongside her, quickly chopping and washing vegetables, adding them to the pan. They’re cooking together like the old days, when she would come home from Cathedral Ward, having ridden her horse all the way back to Byrgenwerth, to his old apartment, where she’d find him, half-asleep on the sofa, glass of wine in hand, exhausted from teaching all day, or running repeated lab experiments. Other times, she’d open the door to the delicious scents of stew, or steak, or roasted meat, and sometimes even freshly caught fish, frying delicately in the pan. And now, she feels the sense of deja vu, as they stand side-by-side, mixing the ingredients together.
‘You’re just as clumsy as ever,’ Micolash comments, watching Rom knock a carrot onto the floor with a wry smile. ‘Still dropping things on the floor. How many glass beakers have you broken this year alone? Twenty? A hundred?’ He chuckles, adding more vegetables to the pot and slowly stirring.
‘Oh, only about a thousand,’ Rom responds, giggling nervously. Honestly. Laughing like a love-struck teenager. She’s nearly forty-two, for Great Ones’ sake! ‘But they all deserved it. Each and every last one. They were in my way, you see.’ She places ham slices onto two plates, watching Micolash boil the vegetables. ‘Those’ll take ages to cook, surely…I’ll make some gravy or a soup-base to go with them, maybe? Just to, you know, add something extra…’
The conversations are long and winding, Rom often losing track of the initial point and having to work out where the conversation is taking her. She’s utterly full to bursting with questions, wanting to know what it’s like in Mensis, whether the students are as annoying as Byrgenwerth ones, and what secret research Laurence has him carrying out. She doesn’t get far with the research questions, Micolash steadily deflecting every single one, only giving her a few breadcrumbs with statements like we’re searching for the other planes of existence, or that they were in the process of reaching a nightmare plane, which both horrifies and amuses Rom, as she can’t possibly imagine what a nightmare realm would look like. Despite the growing lateness of the hour, the conversations never seem to cease, Rom managing to pick topics that have Micolash talking on and on and on. She had made the mistake of asking him to describe Oedon and his incomprehensible sounds to her, and a good hour and a half was spent on that topic alone.
Sometimes, she has to remind herself that he’s really here, and she’s not simply in another fanciful dream. The few times he brushes up against her typically send her into a whirlwind of awkward stuttering and flustering, as she struggles to keep her cool. She’s envious of how dark his hair still is, with only one or two random grey hairs, while she keeps finding more every time she looks in the mirror. It’s not fair. He’s older than me as well. When she points this out to him, he starts laughing, pushing his hand through his hair, telling her that he thinks all the ageing is going to his skin instead, which earns a giggle from her in return. At some point, however, she accidentally manages to turn the entire conversation dreadfully awkward.
‘I’m surprised, you know… that you’re…not married or anything,’ she says, not sure why she’s saying it, except that several glasses of wine are now involved in her thought process. Micolash looks surprised, putting his wine glass down and giving her a confused expression.
‘Well, no… I never found anyone else, not really,’ he responds, his tone taking on a strangely sentimental feeling. ‘You… dominated so much of my life, for so many years… I never met anyone else who could really…well, keep up with me, I guess. I…there wasn’t anyone else, not ever, who could compare to you…so I guess that’s why I live alone, with one incredibly grumpy cat, and spend all my time dedicated to my research.’ He speaks to the wine glass instead of Rom, as if afraid to see the expression in her face. ‘What about yourself?’
Rom shrugs. ‘Oh, come on. I’m practically on geriatric care, here in Byrgenwerth. Willem is blind and can’t walk, and so very few people remain here. He still comes up with all kinds of wild theories, and I help him document them, but I don’t really spend too much time on my own ideas… I mean, I try to, but the old man is just so… consumed by his own ideas, that often-times, my head is just full of his ideas, not mine…I mean, how many handsome young men do you see around Byrgenwerth these days? This place is like a damned nursing home. Laurence stopped responding to my letters a few years back, and when I tried to see him, he just slammed the door in my face. And ever since Maria’s…well, you know she was my best friend, and ever since she died, it’s just been…me, the cats and Willem’s ramblings, with the occasional surprise from Dores or the other grave-guards.’ She takes a deep breath. Well, talk about unloading all my rubbish memories on him. ‘But anyway, you probably don’t want to talk about all this miserable stuff, you probably have more interesting things on your mind…’
‘I do, actually…’ He responds softly, drawing her closer to him. Before she can wonder what he’s thinking, he presses his lips against hers, pulling her up against him, kissing her deeply. She can taste the wine on his tongue, sending waves of pure ecstasy through her body. She leans into him, wrapping her arms around him, feeling the old familiar, comforting sensations of his body against hers, sharing her warmth with him. She feels happiness and joy bubbling through her; never had she expected her terrible little letter to lead to such a wonderful outcome.
‘I didn’t think…you’d see anything attractive about me…especially not after so many years,’ she whispers, as his lips trail across her jaw and down her neck, in the fleeting, soft way that he knows she likes. She can feel him chuckle gently against her skin, his hot breath warming her.
‘Don’t be so ridiculous,’ he responds, smirking, in between light kisses. ‘I said it many years ago. I doubt I would ever stop loving you. No matter how far apart we drifted, or how old we became. I never reached out…because I thought you hated everything about me… you did say you never wanted to see me again, when I last saw you…’ He presses his lips against hers again, and she entangles her fingers through his hair, pulling him closer, relishing his taste.
‘No, I was just… just angry, that’s all,’ she explains, feeling suddenly guilty. ‘I thought you had moved on, after that… I really did… But I never hated you, I promised, I never hated you…’ She feels like she has to explain herself, explain all the things, all the emotions she’s dealt with, all the internal arguments she’d had, everything. But Micolash simply gives her that familiar, cheeky smile, the lines around his eyes crinkling up, while he pauses between soft kisses to her neck. She feels like she has to keep talking, somehow. Keep explaining. ‘I mean… what do you want? Where… where do things go from here?’
Burrowing his head against the crook of her neck, slowly drawing his kisses closer to her jaw and her ear, he pauses, his lips close against her. ‘I guess… I want to try again. If you want to, of course…’ He returns to her skin, gently grazing his teeth along her flesh as he slowly kisses her, his familiar touch unwinding her further with every passing moment.
‘I’d like that, as well,’ she replies, feeling her heart flutter with excitement. She had never expected him to want her again, especially not after how things had ended…with the finality of her words, the steadfast way he had stuck to his own ideas, refusing to budge or compromise… And yet, here he is, so many years later, willing to try again, to put the past behind them and find their old fire…She marvels at his soft hair, under her fingers; the familiar cedar scent that clings to him, alongside the dusty pages of books long-forgotten, of home-made scented candles, of wine and fire and comfort and home. She kisses him, taking in his taste, his feel, the marvellously close feeling of intimacy, the gentle flames of passion slowly igniting within her.
‘I’m happy,’ he manages to respond, once she’s allowed him to speak again, his face flushed red. ‘And what’s even better, is that the night is still young, and we have the entirety of tomorrow, as well… Happy Yuletide, Andromeda,’ he whispers softly into her hair, holding her tightly, his heat warming her through to her bones.
‘Merry Christmas,’ she responds to him, marvelling at the most wonderful thing she could ever hope to happen on Christmas Eve.