A LETTER FOR VARG: AZARIA MARTEL.
TRIGGER WARNING: mentions of grief, blood, death, corpses, self hatred, mental health, loneliness.
MENTIONED: @skavielle
My dearest Varg,
It seems rather trivial, writing a letter to you that you’ll never know exists. Perhaps I thought this would be the easiest way to understand the hold you seem to have on my heart - the care I have for you that I never even imagined I’d experience again.
I never thought I’d meet someone who understands, going through life as long as we have. You perhaps even centuries longer than I, but long enough to know the pain that comes with our lack of aging. The pain. The loss. Everyone I’ve ever known who I’ve cared for has since left this earth, except for some of the few that still remain here. Time appears to be just as much of a killer as we were always thought to be - a ruthless being with no sense of acknowledgement for those that it hurts. I used to think I was the monster. I used to think that the only life meant for me was one where I was always under the thumb of others.
I certainly had to be that monster for a little while, fighting to be myself until I broke free from the voices in my ears.
For the longest time, I certainly didn’t feel like such a life was worth fighting for. Even in my years of isolating myself upon my property, I was consumed by a sense of self-hatred I believed would never leave me. Loneliness seems to be one of the most peaceful experiences sometimes, yet there came a time when I realized it was destined to swallow me whole. My emergence, as much as I avoided it has certainly taught me several things. Everyone, even those of our stature are deserving of love. As terrifying as that thought may sound, I’m slowly beginning to see the truth in it.
You, Varg, are not the monster you believe that you are. A monster does not care. A monster does not show me the kindness and care that you have. A monster would simply deny himself the chance to protect someone else because they simply do not wish to, not because they believe their ward deserves better. A monster does not feel remorse for the bodies in his wake, nor the blood on his hands.
While I wish I could help you understand, your stubbornness seems to be one of the many qualities that makes you special. Drat. I suppose I’m the same.
I want you to know how lucky I am to have you in my life. Even if vocalizing it seems more difficult, the more people I seem to devote myself to in this town - part of me hopes such a thought is unspoken.
Lennox seems to be a special place and as you know, I’ve been everywhere. That is most certainly saying something.
It did give me you, after all.
Your dear friend, Azaria.
















