A/N: Is this a new chapter? YES! After almost a fricking year, I have updated this story. Now THIS is what you call writer's block. I have to thank one of my friends for inspiring me to write again, so thank you, David! (I know you'll read this xD). Anyway, this story continues on, but I want suggestions! I need to make it up to you guys in some way, and I'll write about whatever you feel like reading. Go ahead and sound off in a review!

"The Skeletons In My Closet" still lives!

XXVII

Peace of Mind

I never really returned to London.

Well, of course I did go back physically -I'm writing this at my old desk- but my mind and heart are still there, in Altstadt, that strange and mysterious little village in Prussia.

I spent exactly two years there after my ordeal at Brennenburg.

The first few weeks following my escape were hellish, since I had to get used to being around ordinary people again; yes, imagine that. I felt like I'd been centuries away from society, and even a small place like Altstadt seemed like a greatly populated place to me. To make matters worse, my sanity did not return (and has not done so yet, but my present condition is a different story). I was raving mad, going through delusional cycles that could get to last days in a row, not to mention that I barely slept at all. I was a walking corpse, in the literal sense of the word.

It was only when a month had gone by that things started to change; again, for worse.

My determination to return to London was gone, I knew, along with my hopes and strength to live. My apathy was so overwhelming that I did nothing to change that. And then apathy turned into depression, a condition that hit me so hard I felt like a different person. I felt dead. I had given up on regaining my sanity, but even then I wanted to beg for it. I wanted it back so badly I was willing to give anything.

Perhaps it was thanks to my memories of home that I ultimately survived without my pleads for sanity being answered.

You see, I was placed under the care of a widowed woman who had two children to watch over. Once I was back to normal –or relatively, but it was anyway thanks to her help-, I realized that the two boys reminded me of myself and Hazel when we were young and happy. The two boys had not neared me, not even once, because of the fear I instilled in them. I was led to wonder: would Hazel want to see me like this? Was I willing to let her see me in this horrendous state of mine?

Certainly not, but what could I do to get better?

I finally came out of my trance around October, if memory serves. It was one of the rare nights that I hadn't dreamt at all, and I was up before even Angela, my caretaker and the boys' mother, who woke up very early out of habit. So I was there, wandering around the house in silence, when I stumbled upon the kitchen. And then I did the strangest thing: I got to work, made breakfast for the family, and then returned to my room. No sooner I was there, Angela and her boys were going down the stairs. I still remember their exclamations of surprise.

From then on, I started showing my thanks with every detail possible. It cost me both effort and time, given my state, but I made it. It was the least I could do for all they had done for me in return.

My relationship with Angela and the boys improved slowly; she was still doubtful of my full recovery and mental condition. I had to reassure her a few times –feeling unconvinced myself- that I was getting better. The kids, Henrik and Mikael, spoke to me in what little English they knew and they soon became interested in me. We all had trouble understanding one another, though, so I forcefully had to learn to speak German. Luckily for me, though, Angela had met English people before and knew how to speak the language, so she made things easier for me to a certain extent, but sometimes we had no idea how express ourselves in the other's language. It was thanks to this that Angela and I grew closer to each other, both being curious about our own languages and cultures. Somewhat odd, now that I look back.

And now came the hardest part: the village.

Getting acquainted with people was hard; speaking to them, impossible. Though rumours about me and my positive relationship with Angela had spread among the villagers, they still didn't trust me; my sentiments about them, exactly. It soon changed, for better rather than worse, on the winter of 1839. The stroll I had gone for coincided with a friendly snowball fight the villagers' children –including Henrik and Mikael- were engaged in. A wrongly-thrown ball hit me square in the face, and panic spread among the kids. I surprised them when I laughed, rubbing at my aching cheek, and joined the fight. I'd never had so much fun before.

My behaviour around the kids seemed to ease the suspicions that surrounded me, if just a little bit: people seemed to believe that I wasn't as mad as I seemed. I would have tried handling things on my own, but I'd had the feeling it would only get worse.

As months went by and 1841 approached, I realized with both dread and satisfaction that I was successfully becoming a part of Altstadt, that I had changed. Dread because I feared I would be unable to return to my world; satisfaction because it had been a great feat. I grew used to the calm and quiet; to Angela's kindness, Henrik's aggressiveness and Mikael's sense of humor; to my daily routine when I was offered a job at the inn, and to the horrific memories that assailed me every once in a while. I learned to cope with my feelings and memories, both old and new, and sought relief in the fact that my penitence –if religious terms are allowed- had been my hellish recovery and the hardships I'd had to endure.

I was a new person that had been precariously been built with fragments of my former self.

But at least, I had some peace of mind.

I grew fond of Altstadt. That's why heart and mind are still there, with Angela and the villagers and the Daniel that I left behind.

And never mind my sanity. I'm at peace now.