Letter to Laa'ra

[Carillon]

//If A Tale of Vampires is OOC knowledge, then this is super OOC knowledge! Nonetheless, perhaps it is necessary to understand the story.

***

After brooding for the better part of a day, Jaelle finally sails home to Leringard, putting off her meeting with Connor for a few days. Laura's necklace lies in the hollow of her throat as she stands near the prow of the ship, rain and sea spray stinging her face. Though her eyes show a deep sadness, her face is otherwise a mask of inscrutable calm.

Before heading home, she stops at the temple of Mist and lights an offering of incense, offering also a wordless prayer for a woman she barely knew. The incense is difficult to light in the drizzling rain and burns uneasily. She stands for a long time at the edge of the temple isle, watching the waves crash against the rocks. Finally, she rows back to the mainland in one of the little skiffs reserved for ferrying the faithful to and from the island.

At home, in front of a blazing fire, she sets out parchment, quill and ink. She doesn't write anything for a long time, trying to summon up all her thoughts and emotions and demons before she tries to set them to paper. Several sheets of parchment end up in the fire, the half-finished attempts quickly consumed by flames. Finally, a bottle of wine, several strong potions of wisdom and many hours later, Jaelle blots several sheets dry and folds them together, sealing the letter with hot, dark wax. A few days later she bears it to Port Hempstead and leaves it in Box 63.

***

Dear Laa'ra,

The writing of this letter is no easy task for me. My heart is heavy with the news your last correspondence bore, and the knowledge that this poor attempt at relaying my thoughts to you may never reach you at all. You may have already passed beyond these shores to some distant land I have never traveled to. If that is so and this shall never reach you, I pray you somehow know, nonetheless, that I shall carry out the last task you set for me as best I can. Your gifts are safe, and I shall see the first two destroyed according to your wishes. The third I shall keep ever close to my heart, as I do you.

It is strange, is it not, to think that we have ended up thus? We have judged each other harshly at times, you and I. Know that it grieves me to hear you say that we could never truly have been friends. I say honestly that I have feared you and resented you betimes, but I have also respected you and cherished your company, as surely as I have hated some of your actions. Know that in my heart, I do name you friend, whatever you or others may believe.

We are neither of us perfect, you and I. I do not believe there is a soul in the world that is. Darkness lurks within each of our hearts, as surely as light does. Sometimes, too, the darkness that lives in the hearts of others may touch us and make us other than what we might have been. Know that I judge you not on what Marilyn made you, but on what you have become since, and what you choose to do with the time you have left. Heroes speak of good and evil as if they were absolutes, but they are not. They are choices we are always making, and those who think the choices easy are fools. There are times we may think ill thoughts or commit ill deeds, and I am not sure it is always wrong. And yet each of us, as flawed and imperfect as we are, may also choose the opposite, as you have. We may all choose to strive towards the light.

So you are dying. Ah, my dear—so am I. So are we all. That is the way of life, is it not? We are born to die, as simply as that. And not just us, but all things, in their time. Each day dies as the sun slips from the sky. Flowers die as autumn devours summer and the first killing frost touches them. Ships die in storms, dashed onto the rocks. Buildings crumble, legacies fall, hope fades. As surely as we live, we are all doomed to perish, sooner or later. It is a bad bargain, is it not, this thing called life? And yet it is what we are granted, and we find merit in it where we can. We become immortal not through cheating death but through leaving our legacies etched on the world after death.

You do not have to die alone. I have known solitude and loneliness, Laura, more than many know in a lifetime, and I do not wish them on you. The choice is ever yours and I cannot force your hand in this, but know that should you choose to trust me, I shall keep faith with you in this. Say only where you are and that you wish my company and I will come to you again. Not out of obligation or duty, or for honor, or out of goodness of heart or because I once called you Mistress. Call it instead friendship or perhaps, if you dare, call it love.

My dearest hope is that you will relent, and I shall see you again, even if only for a handful of brief intervals. There is still so much I want to know, so much I wish we could discuss. Death may be a part of life, but I find myself unwilling to give up on you just yet. If there is an answer to your condition, I shall search for it with all the resources available to me. If it is not to be, though, know that there is one that remembers you fondly. When I think on you and speak your name, it shall be with love.

Be easy, Laura, wherever you are, and ever take joy in the light as well as the dark.

My love,
Jaelle