Epilogue: If You See My Reflection (On the Snow-Covered Hills)
My Dearest Leon Belmont,
It has been too long since we last spoke. The castle, if I recall.
Much has changed since such a time. I have wed, and we have a small family of our own. We make an honest living for ourselves, Anne, as ever, continuing her trade, and myself, hunting the various creatures of the night—but never those such as yourself, to be sure.
It has been a good life, these last 30 years. It has treated me well. I have a dear family who loves me, and close friends.
My eldest daughter is, herself, with child. I should love to meet the babe had the circumstances not been as they are…
Which leads me to the reason I write you. it appears a creature of great menace has arisen in power, and kills far too many innocents. I cannot, will not allow this barrage of death to continue.
And as such, the time has come for me and the detestable cur who lives within this accursed whip to say our farewells. It appears I am finally able to put to use the Vampire Killer, as I have taken to calling it. We shall see how powerful a weapon it truly is!
This is to be our final correspondence.
Goodbye, Leon Belmont.
With Love,
Sara Trantoul
Leon rereads the letter. He rereads it again.
916 years have passed since then, to the day.
Leon only wishes he remembered this himself, but fortunately Sara thought to write the date for him, at the top of the letter.
He dearly wishes he remembered who this 'Sara' had been to him, once.
Leon checks his cellphone. It flashes the current date and time at him; April 3, 2037, 8:32pm. He has one notification; it appears the pharmacy has texted to notify him that his prescription is available to pick up.
In truth, most prescription medications don't work particularly well on vampires. Anti-psychotics, as an example, are particularly ineffective unfortunately, though Leon doesn't understand the specifics of its inner workings. Fairly unhelpful, as vampirism cures less than the modern depiction would lead most people to assume.
Testosterone Cypionate, however, works wonders.
Leon moves to gather his things, quickly snagging his keys on his path out of his small apartment.
One thing immortality does lend itself to, he finds, is being able to explore the world. In his human life, he recalls he lived… in some area of Europe, the… west, perhaps? if he recalls. And he knows he traveled some in his human life, more than would've been common for one of his time. But many continents remained unknown to the Europeans at that time, and others inaccessible.
And now it is simply a matter of finding an airplane which both leaves and arrives after the sun has set, and the world is at his whim. Convenient, then, that those are the times considered cheapest.
Lately, Leon has found himself living in Japan. It has been quite nice here, he finds. The climate suits him nicely, almost as though it is familiar.
Since he was turned—he does not recall exactly how it happened, only that it was how he met Joachim, and that he found himself trapped there for a lengthy amount of time—but since he was turned, he has found his memory has declined compared to that of a normal human—or even vampire. He thinks that perhaps once, as a human, he was able to recall things more easily, that something happened to dull his memory, but ironically he can't remember what.
As such he has found himself prone to lists and routine for his own sake.
Keys, wallet, phone, jacket, contacts mask, kneebrace… kneebrace.
———
Leon finds his way to the pharmacy quickly enough, and with luck there is hardly a wait.
It would be best to head home for the night, limit the amount of people he sees, but… Leon finds his head full of thoughts. He feels… restless.
He walks aimlessly through the city, pondering his long life.
He has been alone, entirely, for hundreds of years now… near two centuries? more?
He recalls the day he had returned to find Joachim dead at the hands of another vampire the two had feuded with. He recalls being overcome with rage, blacking out, coming to with the viscera of the killer on his hands.
At the time, he couldn't imagine a life without Joachim. The two had remained constant companions since Leon had been turned, he thinks, and while humans would come and go, lives fading like the flicker of a flame, Joachim would always be there.
Until he wasn’t.
Leon knows better, now, than to allow himself to become attached to others. Human, or otherwise.
He has, to tell the truth, has his associations since. The Aulin girl and her spells could prove quite useful when necessary, even if she was intent on befriending him despite his attempts to maintain distance between them.
It had hurt more than he had thought it would when she died.
He remembers allowing her to attempt a spell on him, one that was intended to cure vampirism, which she had discovered in the tome of a witch from the 19th century. It was the first spark of hope he had felt in centuries.
With this, she had been able to free two twins of their vampiric curse, even becoming close lifelong friends with them.
Of course, the spell hadn't worked on Leon. He still lives with the effects of the spell’s failure.
Aulin, for her part, was very apologetic, expressing her guilt plainly, but Leon didn't mind terribly. Tragedy had struck him before, he would endure.
What choice did he have, ultimately?
He continues walking, lost in thought. He had long since accepted his fate. Doomed to live centuries upon centuries with little to entertain him. He can't afford to trust others after the life he has lived.
What had he been like before this? Before turning?
He remembers very little. Only… he had been born in Western Europe, centuries ago… perhaps even a millenia, at this point?
He had some sort of code of honor which he wore proudly, being... a warrior of some type?
He knows he is light of hair, and was once a devout Catholic. He spoke—and still knows a few words of—forms of French and English that have been lost to time for centuries, as well as speaking their modern forms.
He does not remember his surname, or his family, if he had had one, or even his own face.
He only remembers two names—
Slam.
It would seem he got too lost in thought, and ran directly into someone.
“Ah! I’m so sorry!”
A girl, with ginger hair, crouches to gather her books. A university student, from the looks of it.
Her friend, a person with a head of dark brown hair, immediately joins her to help.
Leon crouches to assist. There’s no reason to do so, he’s never going to see these people again.
But then, there’s no reason not to.
He leans to pick up the remaining books, adding “apologies. I should have been watching where I was going.”
One slips just outside his grasp, as the girl responds, “no worries! It's totally fine.”
He meets her eyes, and is struck with a vague sense of familiarity, like he's seen her face before, but can't place it.
He looks at her, as though piecing together a puzzle, attempting to recall where he's seen her before.
Her friend speaks up. “Uh, hello? Are you good?”
He looks over at the friend and… their face feels all too familiar, more, even, than the girl. He remembers fighting alongside a man, tall in stature; co-leading a battalion alongside Leon, his strategies unshakeable.
They look so similar to Mathias.
And for a moment, memories rush back. And Leon remembers, he knows this face. He knows it well.
He reels himself back in, and realizes the latter is speaking.
“P-pardon?”
“I said, you look familiar, do you go to the university around here?”
Leon freezes for a moments. “No, I. I don’t. I. I moved here, recently, for… for a job.”
They let out a quiet “huh.”
“Soma, we should probably get going, it’s already dark.”
“Oh, yeah. Uh. Bye,” the one apparently called Soma responds.
“Bye!” says the red-haired girl. “Sorry for running into you!”
“It was my fault,” is all Leon responds with.
He cannot bring himself to move, catching pieces of their conversation as they retreat.
“That was so weird…,” Soma remarks. “And he looked so familiar. Even with half his face covered by that mask.”
“...Aren't you faceblind?”
A noncommital sound, followed by, “yeah, but I swear I've seen him before.”
“Yeah. I thought for sure you were right about him being a student. He can’t have only got here recently, right?”
“Yeah. Maybe he was lying?”
“Why would he lie about that?”
Soma shrugs.
The two fall into an amicable silence.
And Leon is left to stand, entirely stunned by the previous interaction, his chest, warm as it can be given his condition.
Perhaps it was just a vision. Another of his occasional hallucinations.
But for the first time in centuries, he allows himself, if only for a second, to feel the most dangerous emotion of them all.
Hope.