Other Fan Fiction ❯ Assembled Again ❯ Chapter 2
[ T - Teen: Not suitable for readers under 13 ]
By: Killed Ideal 
Non Anime: Other Fan Fiction | Genre(s): Action / Adventure / Drama / Supernatural / | Type: Continuation | Uploaded On: 06.27.2006 | Pages: 1 | Words: 387 | Visits: 288 | Status: Work In Progress
Non Anime: Other Fan Fiction | Genre(s): Action / Adventure / Drama / Supernatural / | Type: Continuation | Uploaded On: 06.27.2006 | Pages: 1 | Words: 387 | Visits: 288 | Status: Work In Progress
London
Mina Harker’s Residence
Two hours after leaving the painting of the youthful Dorian Gray in the home of its long dead artist, Mina Harker entered the main hall of the home she and Jonathon had shared. He had survived for ten years after their victory over Dracula. He had watched as his hard won wife never aged, and even Abraham van Helsing had been puzzled by the woman’s unmarred features. Finally, his nerves and poor health had failed him. One night, while his restless bride stood by, death had gently lifted the soul of Mr. Harker away.
A queer thought had possessed Mina two years ago. When she had returned from her adventure with the others, she had cried out for Jonathon, shouted that she was home. Why she had forgotten her husband’s death, Mina never had been sure. Partially, she ascribed it to meeting Doctor Jekyll. He reminded her so much of Jonathon. So proper, so awkward, so restrained, so… very repressed. Yet she had not repeated her cry for Jonathon since that first time, even though the urge had taken hold of her often.
Mina sighed to herself as she loosed her dark hair, the long pieces falling elegantly against her shoulders. Her sharp green eyes scanned the few letters that had been placed in the box on her door during the morning post. Only one caught her attention.
The envelope was bright red, impossible to miss, and there was writing on it but not her address. It had been hand delivered by someone who knew where she lived. The black ink was clearly put on the envelope by a man, Mina’s knowledge of handwriting told her that much right away. It wasn’t a woman’s writing at all. All of the other letters were abandoned on a table in the hallway but the red envelope was carried into the parlor, where Mrs. Harker’s typewriter was set up on a desk, but the keys were dusty, untouched for many years.
“Mina Harker,” she read in a low voice, staring at that black lettering, not hiding the puzzled look on her features at the appearance of the title written on the envelope, “of the League of Extraordinary Gentlemen.”
Mina Harker’s Residence
Two hours after leaving the painting of the youthful Dorian Gray in the home of its long dead artist, Mina Harker entered the main hall of the home she and Jonathon had shared. He had survived for ten years after their victory over Dracula. He had watched as his hard won wife never aged, and even Abraham van Helsing had been puzzled by the woman’s unmarred features. Finally, his nerves and poor health had failed him. One night, while his restless bride stood by, death had gently lifted the soul of Mr. Harker away.
A queer thought had possessed Mina two years ago. When she had returned from her adventure with the others, she had cried out for Jonathon, shouted that she was home. Why she had forgotten her husband’s death, Mina never had been sure. Partially, she ascribed it to meeting Doctor Jekyll. He reminded her so much of Jonathon. So proper, so awkward, so restrained, so… very repressed. Yet she had not repeated her cry for Jonathon since that first time, even though the urge had taken hold of her often.
Mina sighed to herself as she loosed her dark hair, the long pieces falling elegantly against her shoulders. Her sharp green eyes scanned the few letters that had been placed in the box on her door during the morning post. Only one caught her attention.
The envelope was bright red, impossible to miss, and there was writing on it but not her address. It had been hand delivered by someone who knew where she lived. The black ink was clearly put on the envelope by a man, Mina’s knowledge of handwriting told her that much right away. It wasn’t a woman’s writing at all. All of the other letters were abandoned on a table in the hallway but the red envelope was carried into the parlor, where Mrs. Harker’s typewriter was set up on a desk, but the keys were dusty, untouched for many years.
“Mina Harker,” she read in a low voice, staring at that black lettering, not hiding the puzzled look on her features at the appearance of the title written on the envelope, “of the League of Extraordinary Gentlemen.”