Chapter Text
April 27
It is within the comfort of my own journal that I write down this peculiar stroke of luck! While I’ve never stated it, out loud or on paper, the lack of a constant companion for my trip to Romania has been a constant ache upon myself. I can only write to my dearest Mina so often, and even then I shall get no response. That is why my very soul lifts with each flick of my pen.
Upon my way to Munich, I decided to make a mild detour to Switzerland. It may seem queer, but it wasn’t too far off from my route and the stories told of it’s beauty was too much of a temptation for a sensitive soul like myself to pass up on. When on site, seeing at length a majestic forest, I committed myself to sketching it out, so that I might show Mina when I return. It was after I had put down a multitude of these nature scenes did I see it.
A hulking figure weaved throughout the trees, nimble and swift despite its apparent size. It’s countenance was obscured by shadow, yet even at a distance he seemed cumbersome. It was only when I strained my vision did I see it’s eyes, though only a flash, pale and radiant as the moon.
Needless to say, I was consumed with curiosity. I was still a fair amount away from civilization, and nightfall was soon approaching. I felt myself grow concerned for this seemingly lost soul.
“You, there, in the forest!” I called out, after having put my diary and pen safely away in my pocket, hands cupped around my mouth. It was then that those haunting eyes stared directly at me. My frame shivered, feeling analyzed and exposed. As if the hunter and the prey. I stepped into the heavy underbrush, and the figure stepped back. I, being an all together unassuming man, was not used to being feared or avoided. This puzzled me.
“I mean you no harm, friend! My name is Jonathan Harker! What might yours be, good sir?” I said, approaching further, as I soon registered the apparition as that of a man. A voice, deep and rich, though thoroughly wrecked from disuse, answered me. Even now I can recall my heart palpitating faster and faster, a jackrabbit trapped in my chest.
“Though it is criminal to leave so kind an inquiry without answer, I can not do so, as a wretch such as I has naught a title to claim. Forgive me, kind stranger.” He said, the prose falling from his lips in so elegant a fashion that all my potential fears dampened, and along side them bloomed the first soft buds of empathy. His answer in no way informed me to him, but rather engaged my curiosity further.
As I drew upon him I found that he was much taller than anticipated, a giant in all meanings of the phrase. From his garb he appeared to be a rustic, or perhaps a vagabond. It was only until I was mere meters from him did I see that which interested me more.
Across all visible skin were fine scars, each line raised and paled ever so slightly, each mark surgical in its perfection. The closer I came to him, the more I got the distinct feeling that the man in front of me was wrong. I would be lying to say I didn’t then feel the cooled embers of fright glow again within my breast. It was only when I looked in his eyes that I truly stomped out that flame.
How could I describe such eyes? From a distance they were mystifying, but up close they were ethereal. The lids which covered them were dark and thin, drooping ever so slightly under the weight of fine stitches. The eyes themselves were of a yellow hue, something I had never seen in a human until then! They were glassy and deeper than any of the known seas. Even reflecting on the memory, I feel as if I could lose myself in them.
“Are you perhaps French?” I said hastily, though not smoothly to my chagrin, breaking the spell of silence which had fallen over us. “Your accent, it’s rather thick.”
He raised an eyebrow, the movement seeming unnatural in its progression. He could reasonably be considered handsome despite the corrupted way his muscles pulled and relaxed.
“I’ve too many origins to know, but was taught by the kindest of Frenchmen.” He said, an air of reverence and melancholy in his lustrous voice.
“Do you live near? It’s getting rather late, and I’d be more than happy to escort you to your home.” I offered, looking at the rising splendor of the moon. He did the same, eyes catching the moon rays and blanketing him in majesty. He then shook his head slowly, and my heart lurched for this strange man. How horrible, to be a wanderer, exposed to all the cruelty of nature!
“I am on my way to a client’s residence. It’ll be a few days more, but you would be more than welcome to accompany me! I am quite certain I can convince the Count to let you stay, and afterwards you can come back with me to England.” I knew my darling Mina could never deny such a poor soul!
He looked at me with such sad eyes, yet how filled with hope were they! I reached out my hand in a stiff and professional manner, as I was taught to when making business deals. He stared at it like an alien thing, before so very hesitantly accepting it within his own. How to describe the touch of his skin! Cold and tight around each fiber and ligament, it almost felt as if shaking the hand of a corpse!
As of writing this, I have bought this stranger a hat and even a journal of his own. He hides himself as much as he can, and perhaps this is a good thing. Many locals have been intimidated by him just from his stature. I fear he would frighten folks fully were he to show his face, as his features give quite an unusual feeling when one looks upon them. We are currently at a hotel, and are set to travel by carriage tomorrow.
Until then, I shall try to sleep as soundly as my new companion, who stirs not at all, God bless his soul.
Jonathon Harker.