Patient A-3

Chapter 54: Monster Like Me

Sophie

Three Months Later

The transition hasn't been easy-not just the adjustment to vampirism but also to a life without Avalyn. I sink into the couch, my gaze drifting to Cierien, his head resting on my lap. Even in sleep, his expression is troubled, haunted by memories I can only imagine. I refrain from waking him; he barely sleeps as it is, and even a fitful rest is better than none. Tenderly, I stroke his hair, a soft melody escaping my lips, hoping to soothe him into a more peaceful state.

Refocusing on the paper before me, I scrutinize each word repeatedly. Avalyn's will left everything to me, with provisions for Mrs. Jackson and her children. It's a weighty responsibility, one that I wish I could simply discard, pretending it's all a twisted figment of my imagination, akin to the nightmares plaguing Cierien. Yet, I can't bring myself to tear the document apart. Instead, I set it aside, determined to regain my composure and confront the reality before me.

The decision to keep the house was unanimous-Cierien's and mine alone. Today marks the official transfer of ownership to my name, along with the allocation of funds. Wrath, elusive as ever, seldom graces us with his presence, preferring to retreat into his own world. I can only speculate about his whereabouts, though I have my suspicions. A week ago, I stumbled upon him conversing with Avalyn's grave. It seems he spends hours there, perhaps all day and night, as if she were still alive and present. When I questioned him, he brushed it off, claiming he merely sought solace in the birdsong. He remarked that it was a far cry from the anguish-filled cries that echo through the house each night, emanating from Cierien.

Wrath's grief manifests in a silent storm of anger. I've witnessed him completely lose control only once, and it was when we suspected an animal had disturbed Avalyn's grave. Just a day after we laid her to rest, I awoke to the sound of shattering glass, the sight of furniture tossed about, and the cacophony of screams. As I rushed downstairs, the scene greeted me-a house in disarray, Cierien huddled in a corner, his cries reverberating, while Wrath unleashed a torrent of vile accusations. Convinced that Cierien had attempted to desecrate Avalyn's resting place, Wrath's fury knew no bounds.

During that initial week, Cierien battled fiercely with his emotions. He seemed unable to grasp the reality of Avalyn's absence, his mind clouded by the trauma of her loss. His struggle was evident in his inability to retain any of our words, as if his mind had erected impenetrable barriers against the truth. While I understand why Wrath suspected him, given Cierien's fragile state, I wouldn't have been surprised if he attempted to dig his way to her, but I know he couldn't have been responsible. He had been by my side the entire night before, offering whatever scant comfort we could provide each other in our shared grief.

Wrath, burdened by his own grief and rage, neglected his role as a friend, leaving me to bear the weight of Cierien's shattered psyche alone. It fell upon me to repeatedly shatter the delusions that consumed him, to remind him time and again that Avalyn was gone, never to return. It was a relentless effort, but eventually, the truth began to take hold.

Upon closer examination of Avalyn's disturbed grave, the evidence pointed to the work of an animal. The earth was scattered, the stone marker displaced, and the book strewn a few feet away. The photograph I had placed there was nowhere to be found, likely carried off by the wind. Even the apple juice bottle had vanished. However, what struck me as odd was the shovel tossed halfway down the path. It left me pondering whether Wrath, consumed by his grief and fury, might have been the one to cause the disturbance, the trauma of the situation clouding his judgment and leading to irrational actions.

That day was dedicated to restoring Avalyn's final resting place to its former serenity. Together, we meticulously replaced everything that had been disturbed, smoothing the earth to a semblance of order. He selected a larger rock to serve as a marker, discarding the smaller one, and adorned the site with more vibrant flowers, a tribute befitting her memory. Throughout the solemn task, not a word passed between us, not even when we finally sank down to rest on the cool ground, side by side. We sat in silence, watching as the gentle breeze stirred the petals of the flowers, until the weight of it became unbearable for one of us-ultimately, it was I who broke the quietude.