Work Text:
Jonathan Harker’s Journal
7th October. Morning — With the revelation we need not begin our pursuit of the Count for another five days, I intend to spend the next few looking after Mina. She sleeps much, still, and remains pale and lethargic. The scar on her forehead bothers her terribly, and it pains me as well to see her skin so marred by that monstrous creature. She has not spoken about it in great detail yet. There has not been the time. Perhaps the next week will grant us some room for contemplation and conversation.
I woke before her, and lay for a long time by her side. The warmth of the sun through the sheer curtains gave her face a little colour, and I dared not move them to investigate whether it was simply a trick of the light. Her hair fell loose about her shoulders, moving very slightly as her chest rose and fell with her sweet breath. Though the changes wrought by the Count were signs of the most frightful corruption to come, I found they did not bother me; only their implications did. The scar, though it looked red and irritated, was symmetrically placed, and not visually unpleasant. Her reddened lips and the somewhat sharpened appearance of her teeth brought to mind the Count, but the very thought of comparing the two was so absurd that I could not have dwelled on it had I wished to.
The matter of Mina’s changes had been an unspoken topic between the two of us, beyond what had been relevant to the plans we were making to travel to Varna. I had given the matter a great deal of thought. Remembering those frightful women who accosted me in the castle I worried she would lose herself. Having read, as well, Dr. Seward’s account of Lucy’s gradual change it felt hopeless. Seeing her, however, she was still her dear self. A little tired, a little distant, but hardly some bloodsucking monster. Besides, might I not help? If truly she needed blood, might I not give mine freely to her, as the other men did for Lucy? Might I not open up my throat to her and let her drink her fill? What did it matter whether medical equipment was involved, or she came by it in the way that might eventually come naturally to her? I will gladly give my blood to her, all that I have, that she may thrive.
When her eyes at last fluttered open they seemed to me unfocused and wary. She looked at me for several seconds before her face softened into a smile, and she laid a hand upon my cheek. It still held the warmth of life.
“My dear,” she said, “you waited for me.”
“I will always wait for you,” I assured her, and turned my face in her tender grasp so I could place a kiss upon her palm. “Whatever happens to us, I will not leave you again.”
Only five months had passed since I began my ill-fated journey to Transylvania, and yet a whole lifetime of events seemed to have occurred since that bright day in early May. I felt as though I had lived decades, many of them painful, in that time. It showed on my person, my hair grown white and my features weary despite my youth. I worried, occasionally, that the change might put Mina off, but she had not said anything about it.
“Unless you must, unless I become too far gone to turn back.”
“Never,” I told her firmly. “There is nothing you could do or become that could persuade me to leave you.”
“You as well as I have read what Dr. Seward wrote of Lucy, how it affected them all. Even Lord Godalming knew that the creature into whose heart he drove a stake was no longer his beloved.”
“Yes,” I admitted. I had sat up, and took her dainty hands in mine. “I do not mean to say that his love for her was lesser than mine is for you, but Mina, you will never cease to be my most dearly beloved wife. I will give to you everything that is in my power, even if that must be the last drop of blood left in my body. Lucy only took a little from the children she hunted, and perhaps more closely watched, you will not need more from me.”
“My dear,” she began, but paused, her lips trembling. Her eyes were large and very dark, and I thought I would be perfectly happy to spend whatever remained of my life staring into them, however much hunger they might eventually show. “You cannot do such a thing.”
“You are my wife,” I insisted, “everything that is mine is also yours. When I was trapped in that awful castle, I could think of nothing but returning to you. I did, as best I could, and you found me. Do not believe for one moment I will ever leave you again, or can fear anything more than your absence.”
She looked down, and as her hair moved I saw once more the pinprick wounds at her throat, where that vile monster had had his mouth upon her pristine flesh. I brushed her hair away, and leaned into place my own lips there, hoping she might associate it henceforth with my loving kiss rather than his attack. I heard her sharp intake of breath, and felt her stiffen for a moment against me. After a moment she relaxed, and I felt her fingers stroke my hair, and I took it as an invitation to press more kisses up along the slender column of her throat, the gentle curve of her jaw, and at last upon her rosy lips. She smiled against me, and sighed my name into the breath we shared.
Mina Harker’s Journal
7th October. Afternoon — Jonathan and I spent the day going over once more the dreadful events he endured at the hands of the Count. The others had left on various errands kept from me for all our sakes, but to simply go over what we already know seemed to us a safe enough endeavour. I remain very tired, and so we read in our room. Jonathan read out loud to me, and it was even more distressing to hear his words spoken out loud than it had been to read them in his hand. I had read his account several times in order to type it all out, but he, poor dear, had not relived his experiences in this manner since his grave illness. It pained him terribly, and me even more, for it was on my suggestion we did this.
As he read to me his description of the first moment he saw the Count, crawling down the wall of the castle in his lizard fashion, I rose from my chair and walked over to his. I laid one hand on his shoulder, and with the other stroked his hair. I missed the dark brown, but the white looked quite distinguished on him, and nothing so inconsequential as outward appearance could ever dampen the love I felt for my husband. Oh, even now it gives me a little thrill to think of it, though he may become my widower sooner than we both should like.
“A break, perhaps?” I suggested, and he nodded in evident relief. He set down the papers —the ones I had typed out, rather than his own journal— and we had tea.
I do not like for others to see me these days, not even the staff. The scar that disfigures my forehead is so large and obtrusive, and despite my attempts I have not been able to discreetly hide it behind my hair without appearing very foolish indeed. Jonathan insists he does not mind it, but I have seen him looking on occasion. It is such a terribly stark reminder that I am made monstrous, rendered unclean and unwanted by God by the foul creature’s wretched bloodlust and cruelty. I wonder how long it may take me to feel it. The hunger for blood. Unlike my poor Lucy, I have now the advantage of knowing what it is that is happening to me, and having a whole flock of brave and good men who want nothing more than to protect me and slay that beast. She did not begin to attack others until after her apparent death, but we know, and the Count knows too, what is at stake. He may use his powers to command me to do things against my will, perhaps even against my knowledge. To attack those most dear to me. Nothing could hold for me greater fear than that, yet Jonathan seemed almost to welcome it, earlier. No doubt he wishes simply to ease my worries.
After our tea, we resumed our reading. I moved to lay on the bed, for sitting upright felt too much of an effort, and he came and sat beside me, one hand stroking my hair as he read to me of his most frightful experiences. I could see it in such vivid detail that I felt as if I were really there. Oh, but that I might have been! To ease his worry, to guide him to safety. It is a foolish thought, as I would have been just as powerless as he, but it is difficult to hear your beloved speak of their helplessness in the face of horror without wishing desperately that you could rescue them.
“I am so sorry,” I said to him, looking up at those eyes which at my slightest stirring moved at once to me, “for all the pain and sorrow and terror you endured. And I am so very sorry to cause you even greater pain now.”
“You could never cause me pain.” He brushed his thumb over the horrid scar, an affectionate smile on his handsome haunted face. “But I would live through those months a hundred times over if it might have saved you from that monster’s fangs.”
“I may one day soon have fangs of my own.”
“If they are yours, then my flesh will welcome them. Nothing about you could ever be monstrous, and I will never fear you, my love.” His voice was so gentle, and his face filled with such love that I was forced to look away for a moment, as if my new state of being made such pure and wondrous expressions almost painful. When I once more dared to look up, there was the slightest hint of worry about his eyes, and so I took his hand in mine and kissed it.
We continued to read for the rest of the afternoon, stopping to discuss details of the vampiric condition that we thought might be useful, or other details of the Count that might be of note. But now they are calling us down to dinner, and perhaps there will be more news.
