Demomire, January 17th 1867
My Dearest Bartholomew,
Your words found me in the quiet of an evening cloaked in Demomire’s lingering fog, a constant reminder of the veils we drape over our truths. Your concern for our well-being warms the heart, yet I must assure you that our departure was a necessity carved by the hands of fate, not a retreat from the challenges we faced in our former abode.
The moon madness, had indeed come on my young ones. Their laughter, once a melody that filled the halls of our home, turned into echoes of struggle against the call of their untamed spirits.
Lucie, my youngest, once ensnared by the moon’s whimsy, now bounds across the wilderness with a grace that belies her tender years. The transformation, that once wracked her slight frame with turmoil and fear, she now welcomes with joy and laughter. Yet, as the moon waxes and wanes, so too does her mastery over the beast within.
Under my watchful eye, she’s come to revel in the night’s embrace, her curls flowing like dark streams behind her as she races the wind. She finds joy in the pines’ whispers and the brooks’ gentle songs, where before there was naught but trepidation.
Just last eve, beneath the silver glow of an indulgent moon, I stood witness to her play. A ballet of shadows amidst the forest’s embrace — she darted between trees with newfound abandon, a symphony of life thrumming in her veins. Her laughter mingled with the rustle of leaves; it was a sound pure and untamed.
It is a peculiar thing to see such innocent delight in what once brought her despair. In these moments of transformation, Lucie is free from humanity’s constraints — as if her soul expands beyond the confines of flesh and fur.
Yet caution threads through my pride; such freedom must be tempered with wisdom. For every moment of abandon she enjoys, there are eyes that must not see and ears that must not hear. Our secret lives in her very sinews, and it is my duty to ensure it remains just that — secret.
We have since sought solace in Demomire, here nature herself seems to stand guard, her dense woods and untamed paths a fortress against prying eyes. Our secret remains ours alone, shrouded in the same shadows that blanket this town at dusk.
As for the other children, Emile and Marc find new strength with each rising sun. They roam these lands with an eagerness that speaks to their resilience. The moon still calls to them, but here we have the space and seclusion to guide their transformations safely—a blessing amidst our solitude.
Do not mistake my silence for withdrawal from our kind or our shared struggles. Rather see it as a strategic retreat to ensure the longevity of my lineage. In safeguarding my family’s legacy, I am preserving our kind’s future—a responsibility I bear with both pride and gravity.
Bartholomew, you must envision our homestead as I detail its conception, for it is not merely a structure of wood and stone but a bastion of hope for the Lefevre legacy. On the outskirts of this secluded town, we’ve laid claim to a modest parcel of land, cradled by the encroaching arms of the forest. It’s a place where the whispers of our ancestors seem to seep from the earth itself—a land ripe with potential yet demanding considerable labor.
The house, if one could grace it with such a title when we first arrived, stood weary from neglect. Its timbers groaned under the burden of years, and the wind sang through gaps in its facade. But where others might see disrepair, we saw opportunity—a canvas upon which to etch our new beginning.
Under my direction, Emile and Marc have taken to their tasks with a fervor that is both heartening and necessary. They toil from dawn’s first light until the stars claim dominion over the sky. Their hands, once soft with youth, now bear calluses as testimony to their dedication. Emile, with his keen eye and steady hand, has shown a remarkable aptitude for carpentry. Each nail he drives is a declaration of his commitment to our family’s security.
Marc too has proven indispensable. His boundless energy is a force unto itself as he clears the land and tends to the stubborn soil that will one day yield our sustenance. His laughter rings out as he chases errant chickens or coaxes life from our fledgling garden. In these moments, his youthful exuberance reminds us all that life continues unabated in spite of our burdens.
Claudette has transformed what was once a forlorn patch of earth into a garden that promises both sustenance and beauty. Her hands, ever so gentle in their touch, work miracles into the soil, drawing forth green shoots from barren ground. It is a testament to her will that roses now bloom amidst vegetables; her strength lies not only in her nurturing spirit but in her ability to create life where none existed.
And little Lucie — she flits about like a sprite among the flowers and trees, her laughter a melody that lifts the spirits of all who labor. She watches her elder brothers with wide-eyed wonder and often attempts to mimic their work in her own charmingly ineffectual manner.
Together we are rebuilding not just a house but a home — one fortified by love and woven through with strands of silver resilience. Our home stands as both shelter and symbol; within its walls lies sanctuary from prying eyes and an unspoken pact to preserve our true nature.
The townsfolk regard us with curiosity — outsiders who’ve chosen this remote corner of wilderness as their hearth. They offer aid and camaraderie, which we accept with cautious gratitude.
In this endeavor — this resurrection of home — I find solace in knowing that my children will inherit more than just an abode; they will inherit determination wrought by their own hands and hearts bound by common cause.
Rest assured, Bartholomew, that our roots delve deep into this new soil. And while we may have distanced ourselves from our kindred in location, our hearts remain entwined in shared purpose and destiny.
We shall see each other soon I hope, until then, let your spirit run free beneath Luna’s gaze and remember that strength often lies in silence and secrecy.
With enduring respect,
Henry Lefevre
Author
