Page 84 of Lucy Undying (Dracula #1)

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Salt Lake City, January 15, 2025

My Little Cabbage,

Sorry to write this on the back of your letter. I had no other options. We’re staying up in the mountains—the Queen has a hard time moving among regular people, on account of the gold blades fused to her fingertips—and stationery supplies are not really a priority. Which is very sad. I do love a crisp sheet of creamy paper and a pen full of ink.

But more than a piece of paper, I’d like to write my love on your body. Slip the words and the feelings beneath your skin where they’ll never fade.

I left you a present under a rock next to the post. I don’t know if you’ll think to check this spot, now that the Lover has your phone number. But I want you to have proof. Proof you can hold in your hands, proof you can read over and over again, proof that can whisper to you in the dark when I can’t:

Forever is composed of nows, and I’ve been unbound by time long enough to know our now was perfect. Imagine me living in it forever, and I’ll imagine you the same way.

Thank you for at last answering the questions I feared I would die with—the reason, the purpose, the point of me? It was love.

It was you.

Lucy