"A moment. Just... just a minute, that would be enough."
She's speaking to the camera again which (LaF thinks) is a good sign. It's normal, relatively. And maybe it's good for her. LaF isn't a grief counselor, far from it, but they remember reading somewhere that talking helps.
Laura's eyes are downcast, like she's shielding them from the rain, as she speaks. She's dressed, at least, and the bags under her eyes are beginning to subside, albeit minutely. It's progress.
"I didn't... If I'd have known how it'd all end, I would have... I would have said something." She chokes up a little, and LaF wants to go to her, wants to make it stop hurting, but they know they can't. This is something Laura's friends can't fix for her.
"As cliche as it sounds," she continues, still staring fixatedly at the desk rather than into the camera, the ghost of a smile playing on her lips, "I was, I think, in love with a vampire. Or... or something like it. I don't know. And of course, like every decent vampire novel I've ever read, it couldn't..." She gathers something within herself, some small semblance of strength or courage, and lifts her head, eyes focussed directly on the camera lense. "It couldn't last. I know that. I'm not as naive as my dad might think, you know. I'm a realist. She would've outlived me by centuries, but..."
"It's okay, sweetie," Perry says, placing a cautious hand on her shoulder.
Laura gulps. "No. No, it isn't. I mean, I know..." She pauses, looking up apologetically at Perry's standing figure. "What I'm trying to say is that I know I couldn't have had it all with Carmilla. There wouldn't have been any big wedding or stupid white picket fence. But none of that would've mattered to me. It doesn't matter. All I want... I would've been happy knowing she was, you know, just happy. Alive and well, and happy. That would've been enough."
It's about then that Danny walks in, in the time-honoured tradition of neglecting to knock. Or, not about then. It's about a few seconds prior, when she hears the words "I was in love with a vampire," when she stops, dead, in the middle of the room because she knew, she knew the whole time but it doesn't make it sting any less.
Still. This isn't about her, or her heart, or how even seeing them together made her feel like her bones had begun to splinter. This is about Laura, and Laura's hurting.
Perry notices. LaF notices. Laura, still staring at the camera, doesn't.
Danny coughs.
"I, um, I came to check on you."
Laura turns to face her, and Danny can see the dark circles around her eyes, the sickly tint of her skin, the slow healing wounds on her face. And her eyes... they're so...
Empty, Danny realises, mildly alarmed.
Later, when even LaF and Perry have evacuated the room ("We should give her some space," LaF suggests, "just for tonight."), Danny takes her leave, still a little shaken by Laura's clear deterioration which, she knows, is understandable, considering what she must be going through.
Still. It doesn't make it better.
She walks through the campus after dusk, side-stepping around drunken students and high-strung staff. It's strange, really, seeing other people like that, just... going on with their lives. As if nothing happened. As if this were just a normal university, without vampires or sacrifices or girls going missing. Because they don't know.
And luckily, Danny reflects, slowing her pace, they'll never need to know. Because we won. We won and it's all, it's all because of Carmilla.
Danny's never been much into religion. She doesn't think it's wrong, y'know, to believe in something bigger. It was just never her thing. And she doesn't know where the church stands on vampires, but she hopes, really hopes, that Carmilla is somewhere good, somewhere safe. She hopes she's happy.
That night, Laura sleeps. Actually, properly sleeps, which is a relief to Perry, who, despite LaF's insistent she'll be fine's, comes to check on her momentarily. Her breathing is slow, rhythmic, her face seemingly peaceful.
When she wakes up, it is midday, sunlight spilling across her face, slivers of gold decorating her bare arms. But...
She squints at the window, nose wrinkled, confused. Is that...?
She rubs her eyes, clogged with sleepdust, not daring to believe, still half-dazed from the bouts of dreaming. She stands, walking cautiously toward the other end of the room, toward the shadowy formation obscuring the sunlight from filling the small room.
It is. It is! It is.
A black cat, head raised, stares directly at her.