Patient B-2

Chapter Four: Cierien

Dear Little Bird,

Day 548. That's precisely 78 weeks, or about a year and a half without you. In the timeless realm of vampires, such a stretch is but a fleeting moment. Yet, for me, it feels interminable. They say time is a balm, that with its passage, the sharp sting of loss dulls to a distant ache. But they couldn't be more mistaken.

Each day without you stretches into eternity, each moment a reminder of your absence. Time, it seems, is not a healer, but a relentless tormentor, etching deeper the chasm your departure left behind.

Every passing day seems to carve your absence deeper into my soul. You should be here beside me. Not a single day slips by where you don't occupy the forefront of my thoughts. And I've come to realize, perhaps you never will fade into the background. And honestly, I don't want you to.

You're not destined to become a name that merely evokes a dull ache in my chest. No, you're the one whose very mention sets my heart racing, a surge of emotion akin to an electrical current, jumpstarting my heart into a fervent rhythm. You're not just a memory; you're the spark that keeps me alive.

The pain is relentless, a constant reminder of your absence. Yet, strange as it may seem, I welcome it. For in the depths of this pain, I find solace in knowing that I still feel, that my dead heart still beats with the memory of you. Feeling nothing would signify a betrayal of what we shared, a surrender to the void. And that, my dear, I cannot bear.

I'd rather endure the agony of longing than embrace the emptiness of forgetting. To move on would be to sever the ties that bind me to you, my cherished little bird. And that is a journey I refuse to embark upon.

"Cierien, now, or I'll start without you!"

"One second," I call back, continuing to scribble words onto paper.

Sophie's calling me. We have movie nights every Sunday, a ritual she's faithfully keeping alive. She's showing me all your favorites, baby.

She misses you, just as I do. Know this: no matter how many Sundays pass, the deep ache of missing you will never fade. I'll always miss you, Avalyn.

Yours forever, Cier

As I finish pouring my heart onto the pages of my journal, I gently tuck it away beneath my bed. The room feels different now, devoid of Wrath's presence. He's taken over Avalyn's parents' room as his own, leaving little untouched in his fervor, purging anything that didn't hold a connection to Avalyn, which included a few precious photographs of her childhood. He allowed Sophie and me to choose just one to keep, holding onto the rest as if they were sacred relics of Avalyn's past. He proudly displayed a few on the fridge for all to see, which I thought was kind of him to do.

Sophie has assumed ownership of Avalyn's childhood room. The small old bed has been removed, yet carefully stored away, a silent acknowledgment of our reluctance to part with anything that belonged to her. Though unspoken, there's a unanimous agreement among us to preserve Avalyn's room as a sacred space untouched by time. It remains a poignant reminder of her presence, frozen in a moment we're not yet ready to let go of. And perhaps, deep down, we all harbor the same desire to keep it exactly as it is, a cherished sanctuary of memories.

Sophie and I share a bond that runs deep, far surpassing the current connection I have with Wrath. His choice to distance himself saddens me, yet I've come to accept it. While it feels like I've lost a part of him, I can't fault him for needing to grieve in his own way. I'm simply grateful that he's still with us. There was a night when we almost lost him entirely, and it took Sophie's courage to disarm him of a dagger and an emotional outpouring that lasted days to anchor him back to us. He's been seeking solace in alternative ways of coping, not all of which are healthy, but who am I to cast judgment?