Night Blooming (79 page)

And do not waste ink telling me your wounds have healed, for I know you better than that. You still blame yourself for what happened to her, or you would have returned to your native mountains before now. Do you think I am unaware of your pattern? When you are dissatisfied with yourself you impose isolation as a kind of penance. Only when you are ready to accept what has happened do you go to the Carpathians and restore yourself. This time has been particularly long—you continue to be vexed by what Csimenae has made of her vampiric life, and now you have Gynethe Mehaut’s death to add to your ledger. No wonder your exile has been so long, and so distant I ought to be thankful you haven’t gone to China again.

Sanct’ Germain, listen to me. You cannot take the world on yourself. From what I have learned, in spite of what the Church teaches, not even Jesus did that. You are more generous than any lover I have ever known, and have been since we first met under the stands. You say it is your nature to extend yourself, but you and I both know it is your kindness and not simply your nature that makes you seek to mitigate the suffering you find. It may be useless to tell you that there is no need for you to seclude yourself in remote parts of the world, but I would not be content with myself if I failed to remind you of this.

Wherever you are, I hope you have found love there. I hope you have not been condemning yourself for things you could not have prevented and cannot now change. I long for the day when I see you again, whether in Roma, in China, or on the moon. And before this becomes intolerably maudlin, I will close it, with my enduring devotion and abiding affection.

Olivia

by my own hand, of course

Night Blooming. Copyright © 2012 by Chelsea Quinn Yarbro.

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e-ISBN 9781466807662

First eBook Edition: August 2012