Chapter Text
Dear Doc,
Recently, I have been spending days at a time wandering around Oakhurst. It is hard, sometimes, to see the spots where my friends had once been and feel their absence, an aching hole growing from the inside. Still, I often seek those spots out, like a sunflower that just can't help but find the sun. No, that's wrong, because the sunflower was made from the sun, named for it and glowing like it does even in a diminished form. I am not made of my traumas, or the absences within me. I just need to remember them, on occasion.
When I find myself unsure if Martyn's hair was a dirty blonde, a sandy blonde, or a shade closer to the white that tumbles over my own shoulders, I return to the spot where I confessed my nature to him and where he chose to step forward despite his horror and accept me, and I remember how the golden petals of the sunflower the 3 of us bore seemed to blend with his blonde in the rays of sunlight he seemed so at home in. I had thought, then, that he fit perfectly there, one who could shed some light on my hardships and warm my cold, undead heart with his care. Of course, sunlight hurts vampires, and in the end he scalded me too. I haven't blamed him in a long many years. Instead, I picked a petal off the fresh jar of sunflowers that me and Pearl always take care to keep in our bedchambers and mixed my paints until I reached the perfect shade of blonde, and returned my brush to rough canvas.
My writing is jumbled, today, I know. Next letter I'll try and write my thoughts in a clearer fashion. These paintings I've started, the ones I alluded to in my last letter, have had me thinking of the past again. Pearl worries, but understands.
My memory is not infallible. Neither is Pearl's, who often joins me to remind me that Martyn's eyelashes had been long but not quite that long, or suggest a thinner nose bridge. Even if it is imperfect I feel Martyn would appreciate it. I really do think he would have grown to understand and appreciate who I have become.
Speaking of, I feel my writing has improved tenfold since you made fun of me for mumbling while I write (you bastard). The books Sausage recommends are not all terrible and I think I've been picking up some good new vocabulary. I stopped "mumbling" a good few years ago, you'll remember I told you, and I think my writing should only improve with time.
I will paint Ren next, a harder task for me. When Sausage comes down all dressed up by horseback in a month, I'll ask him for help. He knew the man better than I did. They cared for one another, even if it ended badly. Before it ended, it was beautiful. I have learned to celebrate that. I still miss you, though.
I am also delighted and simultaneously dreading the chance to read what Sausage has written about us. He claimed he did not plan on publishing the book, and despite his greed and hunger for fame I believe him. He's a good man. I even appreciate it. It is another way to memorialise them, you, just as I am doing. I hope he has written a romantic scene with me and Pearl so I can punch him. Don't worry, if he writes anything embarrassing about you I'll set Pearl on him. She can be very scary when she wants to, I love it. I'm lucky to have her. Reading about my gushing must be a bore for you but I know it reassures you to know I have someone here for me. I really love her, Legs. Sometimes, though, I wish y
Scott, Shelby and Drift will come a week after Sausage, and despite my previous distaste for the man, I have a canvas reserved for Avid. I will pull aside one of them, maybe Drift, and ask for her assistance. I hope that the surprise when it will be done will be enough to make Scott show another actual emotion.
I have struggled with your painting the most. Often I'll find myself staring out at the beautiful cliff view, sitting side by side with your grave, with only a half memory of wandering out there. I am not thinking of jumping. I know you know, but Pearl worries when she sees me in that spot so often. I suppose if I was to end it all, that is the spot I would choose. But I don't intend on wasting the struggle I have been through when I have finally found peace. It would be so nice to see you again, though.
I don't struggle with remembering your face - I've told you of the dreams I've been having - it's only that when I do picture you, I see what he did to you instead. I'll always hate him for that, and most of all for the fact that you loved him. I don't hate you for it. I could never hate you. I hate that he took advantage of your open heart and corrupted it. I have no intention to memorialise that monster with a painting. He deserves to be lost to time, and I envy the me in the future who doesn't remember what he looks like anymore.
Sometimes I wonder if it weren't for him, if you could have found a way ... No need to torture myself with what ifs. You wouldn't want me to. I try to honour that.
Pearl planted some new flowers across the bridge, daisies and poppies, and soon she will travel to Wheathill to try and get some tulip seeds. This land needs revitalising. The trees are growing nicely, but the damage of the past is still obvious. That's okay. It will only grow back stronger. The animal wildlife is slowly returning too, although Pearl's full moon romps scare them away from living too near the castle.
Despite our previous discussion on doing something with town, we have still left it. I wouldn't want people to start moving in. We'll discuss it with the other vampires when they arrive.
Still no contact from Apo. I haven't attempted to reach out either. I don't care what she is doing as long as she is doing no harm to anyone. If she is, I hope Abolish is still there to stop them. I would be happy to never hear from her again. I don't hate them. They frustrate me.
I believe that's all, for now. Oscar is doing well. I saw him sleeping on your grave a week or so ago, and it was adorable. I think the smell of fresh flowers drew him to it, I see him among the sunflowers a lot. As long as he's not breaking our vases again, I'm happy. I still miss you.
Love, Cleo