Lupa's Letters: February 24th, 1884

My dearest Jessica.

I have secured transportation to Yharnham, as a stowaway aboard a small fishing vessel. As I lay here, tucked beneath the cargo, I find myself torn between a curious excitement and an unnerving sense of fear. I remember fondly our talks of adventure, and our playful expeditions, transforming our quaint village into all manner of mystical locations. I miss the days of slaying dragons and conquering unfathomable feats. And yet, despite such playful nostalgia soothing my nerves, I cannot help but fear what lay ahead. I miss my family, and my home. I’m trying to forget, but how can I? I have neither the strength nor the want. I wish so desperately that the pain would stop, that I could be rid of the knotting, clenching weight in my chest. Rid of the tears, the stifled sobbing. But I can’t. I don’t want the grief, but I can’t forget their faces. They’re one of only two things left that keep me from ending it all here, throwing myself overboard and allowing myself to drift gently into slumber upon the seabed. To forget them is to lose the last part of me not destroyed in that wretched fire. Like a brand is sealed upon the flesh, I scorch their memory into the landscape of my mind.

I near Yharnham. I can hear the faint ringing of a bell, its shrill chime piercing the air, growing gradually closer with every passing wave. I can smell the scent of a lively market, the various herbs and spices giving off a cocktail of tantalizing aromas, calming my frayed nerves like a sedative. My hearts rises from its slump in the corner of my chest at the very thought of being one step closer to finding you.

I love you dearly, Jessica. I hope we are reunited soon.

Kindest Regards

Lupa.