My Dearest Cynthia (If I may be so bold as to continue referring to you as such--)

I have heard that the weather in Boston is dreadful, not unlike my immediate surroundings here in Kingsport. I am certain that the same storm front which pelted the four of us in the forest last fortnight is lingering about the coast, as many seem to this time of year. Naturally, Boston’s weather will clear, Kingsport seems doomed to experience damp, chill and claustrophobic fog every other day of the year without exception, sometimes both at the same time.

Forgive me if I may take several long lines of floundering text before I come to a point, Cynthia, for my mind sprints into directions diversly and with the speed given by my distressing new shape. My thoughts have been scattered and largely unfocused, particularly useless regarding any of my work. It is to this end that I write, to alleviate the distraction of wondering about you. Your reactions to me are extremely important, you know this, and you also know that I do not addle easily.

This is no less than the third attempt at logical discussion I have written, those other two letters lay unfinished and useless save as blotters for the ink in this pen. Frankly (and when have you known me to be less than completely open with you, my Dear?) the concerns which I must express herein you already know well. All I hope for here is to set my reactions out for you to judge. Forgive my tone, Cynthia, if it becomes too like a lecture-course, but know that this is my only recourse in setting these words to paper. For whenever my heart begins to speak for itself, it seems, my mind cannot control my hands and words become impossible.

Firstly, Cynthia, I have no wish to see you harmed -- by me, or any other. I should say that this harm ought not to include physical only, but emotional trauma as well. It is plain to me, and you have alluded on my request and on several other occasions that you have in fact been harmed in ways that are best left undescribed. If you never wish to reveal the exact nature of the abuses you have suffered, then that is how it will be. There may very well be times when I might accidentally tred those same offenses, triggering a terrifying reaction in you. If any of those things spring to mind, please, my Dear, tell me what they are and I will take all pains to avoid doing them again. This is my greatest concern, that I might not be able to secure myself back into your heart after having been found to be something terrible. I cannot know where not to step if I am blind. I need your graceful hand to guide me around those same places which you so sweetly allowed before. I understand how a touch might be felt in one way on a day, and suddenly be completely different the next, I know this well, my Dear, and from experiences I also do not wish to relate.

I can only swear to you that should you ask to speak on it -- I will listen and surely offer you the sympathy you are due. As I have said before, as well, there are yet paralells between our lives, not the least of which is the loss of control over a situation, which led to certain painful, embarrassing, and I ought to add nearly deadly occurrances. I know that I was sent to find out if you were in such a situation, I surely hope that you never are again!

I offer you support in your decisions, especially regarding me, and our rather distressingly confined relationship. As I said in my last letter, I will agree to anything you must decide. This extends to any other times you would be put to the test: my heart is with you. Should you decide to stop our relations I will still be available at any time -- for any reason -- I am always at your complete disposal. Of course, I do not offer this lightly, Cynthia. How it would pain me to read words which would be our last contact! I have indeed despaired of such thoughts, let me offer you these statements -- if not actually in my defence, then from my heart as well as it may be placed to words.

The fact that I do, now, have a modicum of control over this frightening creature within me ought to encourage you. It has made a home in me, and while I have been told that it might be excised or somehow removed -- how in the world can one be sure of such things? I could in fact attempt to subdue it or ignore it -- at the cost of how many more lives if I were found to be too weak to control it forever, or that ignoring only allowed it out freely without my knowing? The nature of this changing beast is not yet recorded, and probably never will be, considering that very few people upon the face of the earth, let alone in scientific circles, believe in such things. To not see, to remain ignorant, is the way of humanity, I am finding. I know that it must be a thousand times more easy or helpful for the normal person to deny the existance of these things (and I must include the facets of my friends’ abilities: Mordechai ‘sees’ the dead’s spirits, Reginald has the remarkable ability to cast what can only be called ‘magic’ spells!) than to admit they do exist and attempt to quantify them or study most of them in proper settings. How can a setting be made for such things? I am not certain, but Cynthia, be sure that I am trying. Not only for myself, but perhaps if someday these things become common knowledge or established as fact rather than fiction, I will be as they say, ‘one up’ on many a scientist! I will insist until it can be proven otherwise, that ‘magic’ is just another methodology of Science: even so shortly ago as four hundred years, it was clearly magic to propose that the world was in fact round, that germs travel in the air and are the cause of disease, that electricity from even the most violent storm can be harnessed in the form of small devices. I say that since this is in fact happening to me, I will take advantage of it, to make it mine, rather than allow it to have its way with me and use me as a flesh vessel of killing.

The work I will be pursuing with my shapeshifting is to discover its limits and usefulness, as any other new device, information or tool I might have picked up. I know that this sounds somewhat cold of me, but my Love, how am I to otherwise deal with it all myself? You know that I hold myself in rather (some -- sorry, many, would say too--) high regard; and you also know then that my self-image is not to be trifled with. It takes quite a lot to disturb my own image, and believe me, Cynthia this has done it in no short order. How many other terms are there for ‘freak?’ It angers me knowing that term can be applied to me by anyone who does know. I fear that my students know, or at least suspect, and that could be far deadlier than even your backing away from me.

The fear that you showed was tempered by a fierce solidity of will. While it is still fresh in your mind, I would like to remind you that though I could easily have torn from my restraints (moreso than I had, that is) I did not. I did not in any way want to frighten you further. Control, Cynthia, and for you only. Had it been merely the others with me, I might very well have done something stupidly to prove how strong or how durable I was, only to be gunned down by Mordechai or Less. I do not blame you, as I have said before, for being afraid. It is sensible to remain at arms’ length to a fearsome animal, one you know is capable of doing grievous damage. Please remember that I did no such thing.

I no longer quite fear myself, Cynthia. I had done so at first, but with the immediate (and hopefully thorough) knowledge of the recuperative abilities, the shape loses some mystique and gains curiosity value. How fast can I change? How often? What conditions affect it the most? These things are only the start of what I intend to find out about myself. There are perhaps documents I might procure from the Society regarding such things, though I had not, before our meeting in Africa, been aware of feline lycanthropes. In fact, I had not been aware of lycanthropes period, because like most people I preferred to remain horridly ignorant and denied their existance because I had never seen one, but such is life. No one is as purely devoted to unraveling the mysteries of nature than I am, and this is nature. It is dangerous, it is fearsome, and it had a most regrettable appetite at first, but it is mine and I must make it moreso before I can completely be at ease. If it takes my own confidence in myself to make it clear to you that yours is as important, then let me stress again that I am as much a victim of this unusual shape as you might have been if it was left out of my conscious control. There is a brief light of hope here, too, because I must console myself with the fact that those who fell victim to this shape were not people with any sort of future, or apparently any past worth mentioning. This makes my blood run cold, Cynthia. They were no-one. But they were still people. I must break from this path, it only serves to make me disgusted and shamed.

My next most important discovery, I hope, shall be that of how this strange event occurred. I am wondering that it has only affected me -- for the obvious reasons you ought to be concerned if it is anything less than fully blood-to-blood contact. While I must only guess what happened to you in Africa, you were severely battered and bruised, bloodied to be sure: and with contact with the late Dr Renlow you might have had occasion to be infected. It seems not, which is a relief, but even so, my Dear, you and I have shared much else on many occasions. I would be devistated if this affliction were to be transferred to you by accident. Not that I am in the slightest implying that you should be, merely that it is a possibility and I hope that you have not worried overly much about it. In my estimation, I have been changing for nearly a year, perhaps up to sixteen months -- I do not have any access to documents regarding our travel from Africa and back across the Atlantic ocean, I do not know (nor do I really want to) if there were any deaths aboard the ship we traveled on, but you and I spent quite a lot of our time together, so I trust that either of us could offer the other an alibi as to our location during any given day of that journey.

I shall look into that, soon, I think.

All that I can offer you, Cynthia, is that I am already drowning in fear regarding this. Mostly due to your immediate return to Boston. I do wish that you could have been convinced to stay even one more day, but your safety comes first, mental and emotional as well as physical. I assure you again that I would eagerly have attempted to excise this affliction from my person had I known at an earlier stage. I would give you my life, and you know that this is not said lightly. I have already given you the reins to my heart and soul, and you have conquered and drawn my mental curiosity to you alone as intensely as you can satisfy my physical desires.

I do not give myself openly to anyone, Cynthia. Not anyone in my family knows much more about me than I allow them to see on the outside -- you do, for I have shared things with you that I cannot with them. Certainly not even my brother Pyotr knows how (admittedly) exotic my desires and tastes can become -- you know and seem willing to accept them. I had an opportunity shortly before we had met to accept astonishing knowledge and power, at the expense of my freedom -- soul, heart and body I suppose. I declined. I know that this sounds familiar to you, but the difference was that my captor had been somewhat dead for quite a while, and had invaded me via my dreams. You know the extent of my fears regarding these un-dead creatures and why I fiercely keep to myself. I fear greatly for my freedom, for the control over my life, for the ability to steer myself into whatever direction I should feel necessary. You, I know, are of the same disposition and it is what draws me to you. It is what makes you so much more meaningful than anyone I have known before, in any sense. It is what I fear you may lose if things go badly for the two of us sooner or later.

Cynthia, you are the only living person that I could ever allow to control me, I beg you be careful with my soul. For while it is not overly fragile, when exposed to the light of truth it may be easily frightened. It is entirely in your capable, strong and lovely hands.

Now, my Dearest, I must close this letter and post it before I become too worried about the content again. I am become far too familiar with the hard lines of my writing desk and the cold wood of the chair I must sit in, at it. I would far rather be in your eminently more soft, beautiful and comforting presence than to be vaguely satisfied by writing to you so impersonally. Remember that my house’s telephone is working, my students are easily distracted away from listening in, and surely you can find a quiet moment to allow me the sound of your voice, so far away and yet so close to my heart.

Enchanted, Enraptured, and Eternally Yours,

Istvan

Istvan’s Prior Letters...

Both were written on the same day as the one actually sent, either of them are entirely unacceptable to him to have sent at all.

The first consists of certain pleading, which awaited only the angry scribbling-over and the notation "too whiny -- might as well have written "please, please" about a thousand times and hoped it worked", as well as a long diatribe about her intended in Italy. Nothing seems terribly connected, and at least once during the writing his students heard him shouting at either himself or this mysterious Antonio, condemning them for being something they ought not to be.

The second is much shorter, somewhat clearer, but for some reason, Istvan chose not to complete it. This letter includes the words "I want to be your pet," and is accompanied by a small, simple but evocative drawing of a sleeping cat nestled between arms. He used the terms "thumbs, no tail" on occasion, but did not explain it fully in the letter.

Either of these goes far to reinforce the fact that while cold and overly scientific on the outside, Istvan is both emotionally complex and deeply disturbed (in any sense of the words). In the third, successfully sent letter, Istvan manages to convey the sense of urgency he feels regarding losing Cynthia, and his own inability to deal with it.

--SG