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Introduction
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Observation — The Darkness in Between is the fifty-eighth chapter of Jun Mochizuki's The Case Study of Vanitas.
This article contains plot and/or ending details for The Case Study of Vanitas.
Read at your own risk.
Summary[]
Le début dun nouveau chapitre des «mémoires». (The beginning of a new chapter of “memories”.)
This is… a “story.”
A plate of tarte tatin.
A single volume, guaranteed to start with birth… and end in death.
In the kitchen of Hôtel Chouchou, Vanitas, Noé, and Amelia are gathered around the freshly baked pastry that the former just finished preparing. Noé has stars in his eyes as he eagerly waits with a plate as an irritated Vanitas tries to shove him away to cut a slice. Amelia meanwhile just watches them happily.
Joy. Anger. Sorrow.
The door to the kitchen opens.
Hope… and despair.
Dominique in a simple gown and with a blanket over her shoulders walks in. As Vanitas turns pale as a ghost beside him, Noé rushes to her in joy and relief and pulls her into a tight hug. Amelia prevents a panicked Vanitas from escaping due to his remembering his falling for Jeanne. Noé and Dominique tearfully hold each other, Dominique remorseful while Noé is simply overjoyed to be able to hold her.
All those exist to prove the life that once was.
As Noé continues to cry as he hugs her, Dominique turns to Vanitas, hiding behind Amelia with a slightly embarrassed expression, and explains where Jeanne has gone.
They are memories… and records.
Vanitas looks outside the window. Standing atop the rooftops of the city, Jeanne overlooks the bustling streets of Paris.
Being forgotten is a pardon, but it is also a loss.
As she looks back towards the hotel, Jeanne smiles.
Therefore, we wrote them down.
The power of stories and the way they are told, the limitless potential of a pen being put to paper and the hand that holds it. And all these countless stories, the power they hold and the people they represent, are placed in the care of a certain set of people. Handed down person to person so as not to be lost. This is the duty of those who bear that name, the same one that Noé does. The Fangs That Reveal Blood—the Archivistes, Keepers of Memory.
In that dark space between realities, the threshold separating human and Vampire. Pale hair tied back into multiple braids, dark brown skin, a black robe bearing a certain symbol. She steps into that darkness. From within that darkness, a voice calls out to her and she turns, as that voice asks how long it has been since she last traveled to the human worlds. The girl’s eyes widen.
It is the Vampire of the Blue Moon.
After a moment the girl denies this and asks if it is him. There is a long, silent moment where Luna simply stands in place. Eventually there comes an answer.
Yes. “It’s ‘me,’” says the face of Luna growing more and more twisted, warped, and mangled as a dark energy erupts from this false form. Mockingly that same voice, also growing increasingly contorted, marvels at her sharp eyes. The girl watches on unimpressed as from that dark and shapeless a very familiar man emerges with a flourish.
The girl asks what name she should call him now. He answers, the Comte de Saint Germain, and revels in its nostalgia. The Teacher continues to ramble, that changing what one says is akin to one’s entire existence undergoing significant change. The way names invoke certain memories and revive those lying within the memories. And, out of seemingly nowhere, the Teacher began to want to see her and thus came to the Border of Altus to catch her. The girl comments that his existence is very unstable and asks how long he has remained in that state. The Teacher once again remarks her sharp eyesight. Then with a dramatic sigh confirms that he has come to rest after an incident that left him very drained.
The Teacher waves a hand through the air and, beckoned forth by him, books and teacups and little toys and a table appear from the darkness and settle between the two of them. He invites the girl to chat, as no one else will disturb them there, this meeting between two “observers.” A music box floats itself into the girl’s hands while the Teacher picks up a book. The Teacher continues that their disparate nature makes their observing interesting, for all the different meanings a single story can yield between the differing of two interpretations. The Teacher flips through the book, whose pages light up with visions that he speaks into existence. The color of the sky as seen yesterday, the brand of tea as they will have tomorrow, humans and Vampires and Dhampirs.
Any story will do—all he wants is to talk to pass the time. Of all the stories, the worlds they have witnessed.
She turns the crank of the music box. It begins to play.
Astolfo Granatum stands staring at the sheathed dagger in his hand.
He remembers when his father had given him the dagger; back when he had been so young that the concept of “death” had been something he could only recognize through the stories he had read. Astolfo’s father had sternly told Astolfo of their family’s history, the honored history of the House of Granatum. That they risked their lives to protect humans from Vampires, and should that risk ever arise again Astolfo was to do as his ancestors did and behead every Vampire he laid eyes upon. A young Astolfo had stared at the honored dagger carrying such history in its single blade, and turned pale with fear. To hurt someone, to be hurt himself… he would hate that. All he could think of was to be friends with the Vampires. Insecurely, Astolfo had wondered if he was a coward and that was why those thoughts were the only ones he could have. Astolfo’s mother, when her son had come to her confessing these fears, comforted him and reassured his thoughts to be kind in nature. With a gentle kiss to the forehead, Astolfo’s mother had told him to not forget that kindness.
And so, when Astolfo and his little sister had come upon that injured Vampire, he remembered kindness. And extended a hand for help. Having taken a box filled with medical supplies, Astolfo helped to treat the Vampire’s wounds. The Vampire skeptically asked why Astolfo hadn’t called any adult, why he wasn’t scared of a Vampire like him. Astolfo shyly replied that he felt he should help anyone who was in trouble regardless of who it was. The Vampire smiled and called Astolfo a kind human. Astolfo’s eyes shined.
Those shining eyes of Astolfo reflected the sight of that Vampire’s kind smile turning twisted and vengeful.
“You’re also… a ridiculously foolish one!!!”
The Vampire and his multiple brethren laughed, all baring their fangs hungry for blood as they surrounded the helpless and broken family. The blood-drained bodies of Astolfo’s father, mother, servants surrounded him and his little sister, the latter tucked fearfully into Astolfo’s arms. And though there was so much blood from his family staining every inch of the floor around them, the Vampires were not satisfied. Their burning red eyes and sharp fangs wanted more—they wanted *his* blood, his and his sister’s. And there was nothing he could do about it even as they drained them of everything they had—
Astolfo woke up with a pained gasp. Laid in a hospital bed at the Chasseurs’ medical clinic, Astolfo immediately began to have a panic attack from his nightmare of memories. Mira who had been watching over him started and, with a mildly disturbed mutter, called out beyond the curtain and ordered for someone to get Olivier. Astolfo meanwhile could not get a sense of his bearings, his breathing unable to calm. The ceiling above his eyes spinned nauseatingly, and he found that “his body” refused to move.
The scrambling of footsteps running to his bedside. Olivier appeared, worry evident on his face, as he called to Astolfo and asked if he can recognize him. Just barely, Astolfo did. He recalled a time before that awful tragedy. Olivier’s father and his own had been friends and thus the two knew one another from childhood, Astolfo always having admired Olivier for being trained and raised to one day rise as a Chasseur Paladin. Astolfo’s thoughts began to mix and his sense of time still was twisted. Through blurred vision he saw the gemstone marked rosary hanging from Olivier’s neck and remembered. The Chasseurs. Those who hunt Vampires. Vampires. Those who destroyed him and his family. Those who drained them of blood, him and his sister—
Astolfo’s eyes went wide and alert with horrified urgency. He grabbed at Olivier’s arm and half coherently begged him. Astolfo’s sister, his little sister. Astolfo desperately asked if she is okay. Olivier faced with such a question had no idea how to answer. And in his moment of hesitation, another voice did.
“She’s dead.”
Appearing beyond the curtain beside Mira, Gano and another Chasseur, Ogier, stood. Gano snickered smarmily as Ogier sighed with exasperation next to him. Gano continued with sadistic cruelty, revealing to Astolfo that his baby sister, his father, his mother, all their servants, their entire family. They were all dead. Olivier shouted at Gano to stop. Gano didn’t, and Astolfo continued to hear every word. Gano remarked how impressive it is that Astolfo remained alive despite the innumerous Vampires who had drank his blood and Marked him for life. Olivier shouted Gano’s name once more and surged forth to grab the man by his shirt. Before anything more violent can break out, Mira snapped at them a reminder of where they were, and if they wanted to fight they should bring it to her room so she can watch as she drank. Ogier sweating with exasperation scolded Mira for provoking them further.
As an angry shouting match immediately unfolds, Astolfo stared forth with dead eyes, finally realizing. All of them. His whole family. Everyone he ever loved. Dead.
“I get it.”
The fight between Gano and Olivier continued, just barely not escalating due to Mira physically restraining Gano and preventing either of them from going any further. As this scuffle went on, Ogier, now seated at Astolfo’s bedside, smiled. He commented on the absolute and specific hell that it is to be the sole survivor. Poor kid, he called Astolfo. He surreptitiously moved his hand which rested on the desk behind him beside a pair of scissors and pushed.
The scissors fell off the desk and next to Astolfo’s pillow. Astolfo stared at them.
His eyes at once darkened and cleared and solidified with certain. His weakened fingers slowly grasped towards the scissors. He recalled himself helping that Vampire. He knew. It was his fault.
Astolfo raised the scissors high above.
“I… sor… ry…”
At this point as Ogier half-heartedly tried to calm everyone, Mira had grabbed Gano’s jaw in her hand to force his mouth shut and was threatening worse. But even amidst all this Olivier turned and saw Astolfo. His eyes widened in horror.
“Astolfo!!”
Blood spilled.
Some time later. On a bench in a hallway within the catacombs, Olivier sat by his lonesome and lost in his thoughts. Mira approached him with news that Astolfo would live. As he was already so weakened, the damage done had been minimal. In addition he had been restrained just in case. Mira asked if Olivier wanted to see him, as he knew Astolfo personally. Olivier was quiet for a moment, then admitted something. He had known that Astolfo and his sister were meeting someone in secret.
When they were both younger, Olivier had approached Astolfo and asked about Marco’s worrying about Astolfo and his sister sneaking out often. Astolfo with excitement had confided to Olivier that they were meeting a friend in secret and made him promise not to tell. Olivier to this day remembered the sight of Astolfo’s bright and happy smile as he spoke of his friend. Olivier, still lost in his memories, admitted that despite his knowing, he had seen his own past in Astolfo at that time. Olivier recalled being a young child himself and being friends with Roland, meeting him in secret as they were kids. Due to this similarity, he had assumed everything would be fine. He had never even considered Astolfo’s “friend” to have been a Vampire. Olivier couldn’t help but wonder that if back then, if he had done something, if that would have changed anything about this outcome. Mira told Olivier to not obsess over “what ifs” and “should haves” and took a long drag of her cigarette. She blew the smoke out, which dissipated into the darkness before her.
Smoke. Darkness. Astolfo ran helplessly through this awful haze. In fear and agony, he cried for help, for anybody to come save them. His pleas remained unanswered. Those hands, so numerous and cruel and hungry for blood, continued to grab at him. Astolfo saw the dying body of his little sister sprawled in front of him. She asked him why he didn’t protect her. The corpses of his mother and father, both entirely drained of their blood, stood behind him. It was all his fault, they told him.
All because you trusted a Vampire.
Astolfo sobbed. He collapsed in on himself as blood continued to spill, from him, around him, onto him; his entire self is utterly stained crimson with blood. All the while he was sobbing apologies and begging for forgiveness, pleading in his mind for someone, anyone to help. Finally, after so long, a light shined before him. A voice beckoned, telling him it was okay. Astolfo raised his tearstained face. The kind smile of a holy knight greeted him.
“There’s nothing to be afraid of.”
Astolfo sat quietly alone at a seat in an empty chapel with a blanket covering his shoulders. He was visibly weakened, bandages around his throat, lips chapped from dehydration, dark circles around his eyes. From past the doors of the chapel voices in conversation could be heard. One asked if it was alright for his restraints to have been removed, to which another remarked he had been stable lately. An order to bring a certain someone here and no one else. An affirmative to that command, and footsteps running off. A figure approached and Astolfo turned.
There are two people. A large man, scarred face covered underneath the white hooded robe of a Chasseur. And then cradled in his arms. Pure white like downy feathers from a soaring bird. Ethereal, radiant, almost divine. The man slowly opened his eyes, awakening from his slumber, and stepped out of the other man’s arms to stand beside Astolfo. Lethargically, Astolfo marveled at this man’s beauty. Like an angel had touched down to earth from the heavens. The man reached out towards him, gently laying thin fingers at Astolfo’s injured neck.
“Why did you try to run?”
Astolfo’s eyes were wide. Remarking back to Astolfo’s suicide attempt, those scissors he plunged into his own neck. Eyes so sharp they berated his very being, the man ridiculed Astolfo. That choosing death was a mockery of God’s will. He should not run, he should consider all the suffering he goes through to be a trial given by God Himself. Astolfo was shaking. A God-given trial—even though, he said desperately, it was all his fault that they all died? The man did not waver. He answered, if Astolfo desired punishment then he should take up the sword and turn his hatred against Vampires rather than himself. The man recalled what he had been told about Astolfo, that the boy had sustained over twenty Marks from the Vampires who killed his family. Despite his nearness to death, despite the power of the Vampires in those Marks attempting to kill him like a poison, he had still survived. He had still awakened in the end. The man told him the reason for this: so that Astolfo may become a Paladin and give the heads of Vampires to his Louisette.
Astolfo vehemently denied this. Hands shaking, he said he couldn’t because he was weak. He couldn’t do anything, he’s always so scared, even now. And from what he had heard, despite all the Vampires who had Marked him during that incident having been murdered, five active Marks still remained on his body. He was still forever stained by their hands. The large scarred man explained that with powerful and high-ranking Vampires, the effects of their World Formula rewriting may still remain even long after they’ve been killed and beheaded, which included their power over Marks. Astolfo wrapped his arms around himself and clawed at his own flesh with his fingernails. With utter contempt, he called himself filthy. Disgusting. Unclean. He couldn’t ever become a Paladin like this.
The man confirmed this—Astolfo’s body had been defiled.
“Just like mine.”
Astolfo looked up in shock. The man revealed that he himself has been Marked by a Vampire, bearing a damnable Mark filled with a poison that continued to eat at him even now, trying to kill him. He turned, his prosthetic legs clanging on the ground as he does. In spite of that fact, he was a Paladin. Hanging from his neck was a rosary unlike any other previously seen—the cross turned into a diamond with pure gemstones decorating every inch, the largest stone placed at the center. Astolfo with wonder asked who he was. Behind him the other scarred man walked to the doors of the chapel and pushed them open. The chapel’s doors opened and cast a brilliant light upon the face and figure of the man as he gave his answer, his name.
Charles, the First Paladin of the Chasseurs honored with the seat of Diamond.
The scarred man at the door spoke and beckoned someone forth, Roland. Charles tells Astolfo to take pride in the life that did not fail him. Astolfo turned to the door, where he appeared. That same noble and holy knight who had saved him from the same terrible fate as the rest of his family. Roland, slightly out of breath and scuffed as if he had just been in a fight, stood at the doorway with the light behind casting a radiant glow around him. Astolfo stared at him with eyes filled with tears and hope.
Charles told him, let Roland teach him how to fight. And Astolfo shall become a strong knight.
Characters[]
- Noé Archiviste
- Vanitas
- Amelia Ruth
- Dominique de Sade
- Jeanne
- Unnamed Archiviste
- Vanitas of the Blue Moon*
- The Teacher
- Mikhail*
- Dante (Mentioned only)
- Johann (Mentioned only)
- Riche (Mentioned only)
- Astolfo Granatum
- Mira*
- Olivier*
- Gano*
- Ogier* (First Appearance)
- Marco (Mentioned only)
- Charles* (First Appearance)
- Roland Fortis*
(*) - Denotes that the character did not appear physically, but as a part of another character's memories.
Terms[]
Trivia[]
- Observation is a French word that shares the exact same spelling and definition as the English word "observation." Still, this is to be regarded as the French word and is meant to be pronounced in a French manner.
References[]
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| v - e - t | The Case Study of Vanitas Chapters |
|---|---|
| Parisian Excursion Arc | 1 • 2 • 3 • 4 • 5 |
| Bal Masqué Arc | 6 • 7 • 8 • 9 • 10 • 11 |
| Hunters of the Dark Arc | 12 • 13 • 14 • 15 • 16 • 17 • 18 • 19 • 20 • 21 |
| The Beast of Gévaudan Arc | 22 • 23 • 24 • 25 • 26 • 27 • 28 • 29 • 30 • 31 • 32 • 33 • 34 • 34.5 • 35 • 36 • 37 • 38 • 38.5 • 39 • 40 • 41 • 42 • 43 |
| Amusement Park Arc | 44 • 45 • 46 • 47 • 48 • 49 • 50 • 51 • 52 • 53 • 54 • 54.5 • 55 • 55.5 • 56 |
| Miel Incident Arc | 57 • 58 • 59 • 60 • 61 • 61.5 • 62 • 62.5 • 63 • 64 • 65 • 66 |
| Intermissions | 15.5 • 46.5 • 51.5 • 60.5 |
| Volumes | 1 • 2 • 3 • 4 • 5 • 6 • 7 • 8 • 9 • 10 • 11 |
| Omake | Vanitashu no Karute • Romance is a✰LOVE MISSION • Confessional Counseling Office |
| Other | Author's Notes |