Blood Tears
You keep blaming others for your work, my dear… As you always did. If you protect them, as you say, their work is your own. You must take responsibility for what your children do; they are blindfolded, following another blind who has total faith she is capable of seeing. They will follow you to whatever end, and therefore you must repay their trust. No – it is not trust, it is not love. It’s fear and hatred which leads them after you, my sister. They have no one else to follow; the day they joined the Vampires was the day they sold their souls, for no one else will ever accept them. There is no redemption for the wretched souls that follow your dark light like moths drawn to a flame. Your children are your soldiers, your slaves, your puppets – as you control them, you must pay for their acts. No, Mina – it was not Yosef that murdered Kazuko. It was not Matthew that slaughtered Serenity, who he loved. It was you, my little sisko – you are the bane of those souls, who cannot even fight you. The other tribes did not bring the Vampires to disgrace – you did. You block their path to salvation.
But I am blaming her as well – shouldn’t I blame myself?
The only time you will see the light is when you are blinded by the darkness…
Please, Mina – let the birds free. Let them fly. Let Matthew go, let Ruth go, let Anne go…
In Nomine Patris
Death borne wings. Is it? I do wonder, sometimes – why did she choose that name? Mina was one of the few who picked a name for her own; who else would name the leader of the Vampires? Sven, her faithful hound? Bah, he's just another coward. If I ever lay hands on that bastard… Oh, well. This is futile, right?
Mina, sisko… You're not the Crow. You are gentle and kind, sweet and generous. When did you turn into a ravenous killer? What changed in your mind, on your heart? What piece of your soul was torn away, leaving only that bloodthirsty shell behind? You are but a shadow of yourself, a distorted reflection on a broken mirror. Why the change, why the war, why the name?
I never wanted this – and you know it. Hellfire will not save you, little one. Its ashes cry in the night, but the heavens' gates are bound shut. You chose a path for your own, one you know I can't follow, no matter how hard I try. I can't recognize you anymore. And I miss you so badly…
Eloi, Eloi, lema sabachthani?
Eloi, Eloi, lema sabachthani?: Hebraic for My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?
Dante’s Inferno
I'm so sorry, mom. It was my fault; you asked me to look after Mina, and I failed you. I failed myself. I broke the promise I made seventeen years ago, on the day dad left. I was only five at the time, yet I still feel it was the most solemn promise I ever made. I would look after Mina, no matter what. I would always be there. And then I failed her, when she needed me most.
I should never have left home. I should have survived the Plague, so I could return and take care of Mina. That was my duty. But she was on longer a child, and my future was on the line. I thought it safe; it would only last a year. Now it will last for all eternity. Mina's ravaging spirit has broken free, and now no one can stop that swirl of frozen death. No one but me. But I cannot stop it either. Not anymore.
Death, death, where is thy sting? Grave thy victory?
äänetön: Finnish word for mother
Tears for a Dying Angel
My name is Juha Yrjö. At least, it was. Now I'm no more than a charred corpse, along with so many others, all of us unnamed. That took place over a year ago, when the Black Plague struck. Since then, life has returned to the city. In the shape of children, in the shape of my sister. She came after me, as I suspected she would. In truth, I think I would have done the same for my little sisko, but now I worry for our mother, left alone in our homeland, her two children lost to this city.
My sister is Mina Yrjö. She calls herself the Crow, nowadays. A bird of mourning, of ill omen. Mina was the one who found my body; she knew me for my necklace, the one she now wears. She knows what it means – what it meant: a symbol of my vision of the world. Different realities, all leading to the same truth. She has corrupted and twisted it, though – it is now her own symbol, a mark of fear and dominion of her tribe. She rules by blood, by fear. Machiavelli was right, yet this is not the Mina I knew. Grieving got over her heart, turned it to stone. She murders indiscriminately, without sparing her victims a second thought. Mina fools herself, pretending she cares for her tribe, pretending she shelters them, when they flinch away in fear every time she all but glances at them. Once, those eyes glittered with love, her voice sang with joy.
I wrote her a letter when the Plague struck. We were doing extra hours on the hospital, but to no avail. Every single person died, and then all the doctors, nurses and everyone else got sick as well. I tried to conceal it on the letter; somehow, I still hoped a cure would be found and everything would end up well. It didn't. And now she mourns over that letter, whispers my name to starless skies, kills in my name. Mina kills for me.
Little sisko… What have you done?
sisko: Finnish word for sister
