somewhere in a chest locked away , a chest that had survived neglect and fire , i still had in my possession all the letters once written to me from paris by eleni , the letters that had told me of the theatre des vampires in the boulevard du temple that i had left behind in my wanderings , the letters that told me of its prosperity with the paris audiences , of armand 's governance , and of the death of my nicolas , my second fledgling , my only mortal friend , and my greatest failure .