July 20, 1873.

That was the date they wrote on your tombstone.

Dear Brother,

Not a day goes by that I do not weep for your absence. Though there's but a few pages left in this leathery little notebook, I've taken it upon myself to write the rest of your story and the emotions left behind. I am hoping that by writing down my own feelings and regrets, I'll finally be able to let you go.

I blame myself, partly, for your untimely death. My mind continues to replay your final day of life. I can't help but think: "If only I hadn't obeyed Mother and pressured you with the bundles of rope, then perhaps you'd still be alive."

Even so, something tells me you would not have hesitated to throw yourself into the water had Tara gone in before you.

I apologize in advance— for reading your past entries. But what can you expect from a younger sister? I suppose some things don't change...

Judging from your entries, I can only imagine how you suffered. Dear Kenneth, wherever you are, please do not be ashamed. Our family's history played a cruel trick on you, on ALL of us. It led us to arrive at the false belief that the Wakersfields were a dangerous bloodline of vampires.

You are not those words you say you are. For my dear brother, everyone who had the blessing of meeting you knew you to be an intelligent, ambitious, and persistent young man.

Tara was lucky to have a faithful lover such as yourself. You sacrificed your life to stay with her. You could have used the last of your energy to swim up, but you stayed and embraced her until the both of you gave up your last breath.

You'll always be commended for your noble act. Brother I will never forget you!

I almost threw myself over the edge, but I could not find the courage to do it. All I could do was grip it and stare down at the bloody water.

We yelled your name and Tara's hundreds of times. We tried to pull Tara up, thinking you'd grab onto her or the rope, but it got caught in an overgrown branch. Ask me not how it was possible, or what an overgrown branch was doing sticking out of a rock, but the rope snapped as did everyone's hopes of saving either of you.

I was the last one calling your name. Mother wept and the young lady's father fell to his knees, staring only at the ground with his eyes wide open. I screamed your name over and over again until my voice grew hoarse. My throat ached and my voice was barely audible. Only a few syllables would come out. The others were muted.

We stayed until the sun poked up through the trees and the stars dissolved. Not much later, the whole town heard about the disappearance of the sultry redheaded "vampire" and her handsome bewitched "victim".

Your bodies were found a few days later. A funeral was held for the both of you on a cloudy summer's day. Samson agreed to have your corpses buried side by side. Almost the whole town showed up (without an invitation).

Mother and I publicly renounced our witch-hunting career as nothing less than bull crap.

Samson came with a group of five maids dressed in black, assuring everyone that he wasn't a vampire. He explained to them that his ancestor Octavia (yes, he finally spoke her name!) was but a vengeful spirit who had practiced witchcraft in her time alive. He however, did not practice that nor did his daughter.

Last night, Mother and I performed a final ritual in which we burned the witch-hunting kit in the forest. We then prayed for forgiveness.

Reluctantly at first, people gave up their false accusations. The rumors surrounding the Wakersfields dissolved at last. It was a shame it took this long.

However, it is thanks to you and Tara that the feud between our families has finally ended.

As the minister had said at Tara's and your funeral: "Our foolishness caused God to pluck two young people off the Earth. When we only knew hatred, they saw love. They saw love DESPITE their reputations, DESPITE their family names. They payed the price for our folly. Let their sacrifice be not in vain. See past those clouds of fear. Thou shalt love thy neighbor as thyself. See the world with love, and good will flourish."

Tomorrow morning, Mother and I will leave the town and return to ours. We will bid Samson farewell, a long awaited farewell.

As of now, I sit by your grave writing by candlelight. I am not afraid. Somehow, I feel a peaceful ambience. It's almost as if you're here next to me (not the corpse I mean). As in, you're reading every word I write. Or watching me write.

I felt so much pain at the beginning of this letter. But now? Now I have emptied my sorrows through the ink of a pen and I could not feel any more at ease.

I can finally breath. I can finally let you go.

I know you're here watching me. I know your soul stayed behind when I cried your name. You wanted to leave with Tara, but your duty as my older brother called you to stay. Your noble heart did not want to leave me. For that, I thank you.

I'm ready to let you go. These final words I will whisper them aloud, so you may hear me and be assured.

I love you. Rest In Peace.