Chapter Text
Theophilus,
Out of all the names you’ve ever had, this is the one you choose for yourself? Well, I suppose I can’t argue. You’re so far away, after all, and I’d rather not spend the limited amount of time I have sending irritated, one-sentence responses to you over mail.
This will be my first letter to you since we parted. I’ll be honest, I’m not cut out for this stuff. With no papers, and no identity, I have no protection of which to speak. Sometimes I think it would be better to join a gang, and then cut a deal with the Lateran government to grant me immunity once I rat them all out. You know how they reward snitching over there.
I’m still where you left me. This part of Kazimierz is densely wooded, and the trees are flowering and covered in buds this early in the spring. Can you imagine? The dogwoods and pear blossoms, fragrant wisteria, and who can forget the inimitable cherry? Right now, I find only a few petals underfoot. But who’s to say I’ll stay long enough to use them as a carpet?
If you never hear from me again, then all I ask is that you look up. Enjoy the trees while they remain in full bloom, or else you’ll only be able to see their fallen petals looking down.
Yours,
Morningstar
Morningstar,
What is there to say? Nothing feels the same without you. Maybe by the time you receive this, the world will stop feeling as though it’s lost all its color. I try not to let anything remind me of you. You can probably guess how that’s going.
I hope you found the time to work on your memoir. That’s all you ever seemed excited about, other than dinner. I don’t know what I’m doing. Everyone is worried about me. Well, most of them are under the impression that you’re dead. I don’t know how L-n can stay so strong, and your absence is affecting L-l more than she lets on.
I hope you’re able to find the beauty in things now that someone isn’t constantly looking over your shoulder. I should have looked up more, but I’m afraid my attention was always directed somewhere else.
Can you believe it? Even so far apart, we still exist under the same stars and the same sky: the same sun as it rises, and the same moons as it sets. Rather than the Morning Star, to me you’re more of a Polaris: my compass and my guiding light.
Why “Theophilus,” you ask? Because I have never loved or felt more loved by God than when I was with you. Ironic, I know—I can imagine you’re not enthused by the comparison—but if you’d like, you can just call me your “beloved.”
If you never hear from me again, then know that I don’t regret a second that we spent together. I love you.
Yours always,
You-Know-Who
Dear “You-Know-Who,”
Did L-n edit this? I was expecting it to be longer. Never mind how you knew where to send it. I would expect nothing less from my dear keeper. It’s warming up here in Kazimierz. Shall I tell you of my exploits? I won’t be in Kawalerielki by the time you receive this, but I did make a little extra money betting on the Kurantas’ favorite blood sport. I don’t know how they can continue to call these games “knightly” when in reality they’re transparently barbaric. There’s nothing more noble than getting your brains bashed out by your opponent’s—heh—very own morning star.
Remember when we went here and I convinced you to try the pierogi? I don’t know why you were so afraid of them the first time. Maybe it was because they looked like little pastries and you couldn’t imagine the thought of them being savory. Well, at least you finally figured that out for yourself once we traveled to Victoria. Not everything wrapped in dough has to be sweet.
I miss the Lock and Key. Not that they were ever really mine to begin with. In a city as big as Kawalerielki, it’s easy to slip away even without them. I’m not exactly comfortable leaving them in L-n’s hands, but at least I know that if they’re ever abused, then she won’t be the one at fault.
I’m not exactly sure when I developed it, but I seem to have a talent for Arts. The clubs here were trying to recruit me even though they have no idea who I am. And I have to be able to protect myself around here, you know… My wand—sorry, “Arts Unit”—has seen better days. Funnier still, even without the Lock and Key, I find that people tend to slow down around me… Maybe I’m just imagining it.
Polaris, eh? You don’t have to look that far up. I suppose looking up at the stars is better than staring down at the ground. There’s a hole up there now, you know? I don’t know how to feel about that. Proof that we’re all trapped no matter how you try to spin it.
And if I gave you something to believe in, then I suppose the name “Theophilus” isn’t so bad. It’s easier to see the contours of a thing once your mind is free to wander, and I can see more clearly now than ever. If only what I was able to perceive was limited to what was beautiful.
It’s funny what ugliness inspires in some people. My dear keeper, true nobility lies in one’s ability to keep one’s soul from being tainted by rot. Your vision has always been so pure and so clear. How do you keep your eyes so clean?
Yours,
Light-Bringer
Bringer of my light,
No, L-n is too polite to intercept our correspondence. It feels strange to spend so much time around her without you. She’s as obscure as ever. I don’t think she’ll ever change. She trusts you more than I do—maybe that’s the difference.
I told my nonno that I wanted to try working in the private sector. It’s true, I just… couldn’t stay. Not after all that. I didn’t want to work in security, so I applied for a job at a travel agency. Making reservations, booking flights, keeping up to date on travel restrictions—it all sounds familiar, no? It’s a wonder how the small the world really is when you’ve managed to visit most all of it.
I can eat most things now (courtesy of you). Maybe it’s my fault that I still prefer the food of Laterano. The cheese here is too good; the rest of the world doesn’t know what it’s missing. I’d eat pierogi again. I don’t know if I could sit through another tournament, even just the clips they were showing outside on-screen. Kazimierz was never my favorite place to do business, and I know how you feel about their leaders. You said that Ursus had more integrity. I know you didn’t mean that as a compliment.
The world is a rough place. You should do whatever it takes to keep yourself safe. You’ve always had a talent for a lot of things. Some people are just naturally gifted like that. And you’re cannier than you let on. Not much gets past you.
Look at me, babbling on. I’d be the first to tell you that you’re invincible, but you aren’t. Luck can only carry you so far. If you don’t put down roots somewhere—if you don’t have a source of support—you’ll get lonely. And I know what loneliness looks like for you.
It’s a choice to have faith in people, even if that faith contradicts your own experiences. Think about all the people who chose to care about you when you left them. I don’t know everything that you know, but I do know that we’ve been through a lot together. Wasn’t that worth something? Just being together for the sake of it? I know that isn’t how you felt about it then, but I’d like to think you got some enjoyment out of it.
I don’t know. That’s all it was for me: every time I got frustrated with you and thought about quitting, I just couldn’t. I don’t know how else to explain it. Perhaps that’s just the “Theophilus” in me.
Yours,
Lover and Beloved
Dearest L. and B.,
All right. I get it. It’s “just a feeling.” You don’t have to tell me again. I think I know myself well enough by now to realize that I won’t find any secret, tucked-away cache of feelings no matter how deep I dig. And I won’t say that I felt nothing, but I always found you a bit too eager for someone who was technically holding the leash. How does it feel to let go?
I’m in transit to Leithanien through the barrenlands. Victoria’s always been stable, but it’s in a rough spot right now. Even if most of it is… fine to travel through, I’d rather not take my chances. From there I have a deal with a certain someone in Nuova Volsinii, so I should be able to catch my breath there.
I’ll send you another letter once I reach Leithanien proper. Not a lot of places to send mail around here. I’ve been thinking a lot about what you’ve said. Really. Mostly I’m just grateful that someone out there still remembers me at all.
Am I still a saint to you? Or whoever you thought I was. Has time tempered your feelings, or has it only strengthened them? I know love isn’t exactly the sort of thing you cast away in a day. But it’s easier than it should be to imagine you pining away at a window somewhere, staring out at the distant sky.
I always hated traveling the barrenlands by foot. It’s even riskier traveling alone. As much as I hated the job, I’ll admit it was nice to have someone making all my travel arrangements for me when I was working.
Well, if I don’t end up with a crossbow bolt through my skull before I get there, I’ll read your next letter in Leithanien.
Regards,
Traveling Poorly
Poor Traveler,
I feel like you’re asking me to put a name to what we were. I know how I felt about you. But how I felt in relation to you—I don’t think I ever got the approval I really sought from you until I let you go. You were like some caged, writhing thing I had to clutch tight to my chest to keep from escaping. Like a pet with an overbearing owner. I always knew you weren’t wholly mine. It was an agreement, of sorts: you let me love you, but you weren’t willing to return my affections in the same way.
I don’t know if my feelings will ever change. I know exactly who you are. And the more you reveal yourself to me, the more confident I become in my appraisal. If there’s no one out there to love you, then you’ll lose yourself. That’s a fact.
I don’t know if this time away will soften your edges. But mine won’t ever harden. It’s just a feeling, I know, but it’s one I cherish.
Nuova Volsinii, eh? I think I know who you mean. Good to know you’re still keeping in touch. Maybe I shouldn’t be too surprised to learn that you’re not entirely alone.
I love you terribly. Did I already tell you that? I’m not at the point of pining at windowsills, but I don’t have to be for some people to tell. I’ll write you for as long as you like. I’ll scribble all my dirty fantasies in the margins. Whatever it takes to keep me in your mind.
I wish I was there beside you. But I always have.
Yours truly,
Yours Always, Yours Forever
Always and Forever,
I’m writing this over a steaming cup of coffee at a cafe in Leithanien. So I did survive. I guess you’re past the point of embarrassment admitting this stuff, huh? You still have a lot of energy, at least. I’ve had one or two people come up to me to ask if I know how to play the cello. Do I look like I have a cello? Then they had the gall to look relieved afterward. Sorry about your evil cello-playing Sankta woes, I guess.
People are weird as fuck over here about music, by the way. I thought Laterano was weird about a lot of stuff, but color me wrong. People here are nice enough, but man, they’ve got issues. Sometimes you just want coffee and a flaky pastry and not some crazy termagant waving a conductor’s baton in your face.
I do miss you. I know, you’ve been waiting for that one to drop. Freedom isn’t really worth much if you have nothing to fucking do. Even if I wanted to come back, I couldn’t without papers. And I know what you’re thinking. So send me your next letter, and we’ll figure that part out.
Leithanien is a place you can only pretend to relax. I’d much rather prefer the quiet hamlets and anonymizing bustle of Kazimierz. I’m lucky I don’t have Oripathy. Apparently they’re not too friendly toward the Infected over here. We’ve never done much business in Leithanien, so I don’t really know where anything is. And as much as I’d like to attend a concert, it seems like I’d be better careful which one I pick.
Don’t start confessing all your lustful sins to me just yet. We’ve fucked before; I already know what you like. And I could hardly forget someone I’ve traveled for several years with. But if it makes you feel good to sound desperate, then don’t stop, I guess.
We should try the pastries here if we ever get a chance. Leithanien is the only country in the world that knows how to make a proper apple strudel.
Yours,
Finally Caffeinated
Coffee Lover,
I woke up this morning to see the sunrise streaming through my window: deep, vivid orange. That’s how you know I woke up early. I stood in the light and I thought of you. I’m not really sure why. I know what you’re going to say—that I’m always thinking of you—but it was different, this time. I felt your absence, but I wasn’t looking for you. I stood in the sun and allowed myself to be present. I’ve been neglecting myself, these days. I don’t think I can love you fully if I can’t even love myself.
I’m thinking about how to approach you, next time we meet. You’ve never been a warm person. See how honest I’m being? I know you wouldn’t be writing to me if you didn’t want to keep in touch, and I know you love me in your own particular way, but you were never the romantic partner I wanted you to be.
I don’t know where I’m going with this. I wouldn’t have you be anyone other than who you really are. You just weren’t happy being with me, and that’s clear to me now. I’m scared, I guess. I always felt so much tension when we were together. It almost feels better for us to be apart, with whole nations between us. If you’re always out of my sight, then I won’t have to worry about you leaving it.
Yes, I’m saying it might have been me a little bit. I always found you insufferable, but I wouldn’t consider myself totally blameless. I was so blinded by all of these personal revelations I was having—not only of my love for you, but also of the flaws of the justice system, of the absurdity of the Law, and of the hypocrisy of our very own religion—that I couldn’t imagine welcoming any more dramatic changes to my life. I wanted to do something. I just couldn’t accept that it would have anything to do with leaving you.
Of course I want to see you again. I’m worried about you. But I’ve barely begun to process your absence. Your touch was a language all its own, and sometimes I think that maybe the problem I’m having isn’t one that can be solved with words.
I’ll start making the necessary arrangements. I want to see you, but I want to see you thriving. Does that make any sense? A lot of decisions were made for you after the incident. I can’t imagine imposing my will on you any longer in light of that, but if you want to see me too, then, well… What did you see in me, exactly? Was it just… that I was there?
Forgive me. I’m rambling. Hopefully word of the arrangements will have reached you by the time you receive this.
Faithfully yours,
Now Illuminated
My luminous work of art,
What did I ever do to deserve someone like you?
You’re going to think that someone else sent this, so let me preface that with a “Duh.”
I can feel the pressure lifting from my head these past few months. I’m uncovering thoughts I didn’t even know I had. Where I once thought of myself a monster, I’m starting to wonder, just maybe, if I’m capable of being less heinous than that. The emptiness that was there is starting to fill up a bit. I’m starting to entertain possibilities I once thought out of reach for me. None of this would have been possible had you never thought to let me go. Chew on that for a while, won’t you?
I don’t know. Would you be able to handle me when I’m happy? You could barely handle me when I was upset. I think you’d just explode from rapture, as if you’d lain eyes on the face of God Himself. Imagine that I gave you exactly what you want. Would you even know what to do with yourself?
See? I’m being smug because I don’t know if there’s any other way I can get you to believe me. I can tell you’re a fucking mess, at least at the time that you sent that letter. Now that things are starting to work out, you’re getting cold feet. Should I threaten to leave you again? Would that make you feel better?
“I’m past the need to conceal my desire for you.” That sounds a little formal. “I want to make you orgasm but this time, like, actually.” Too crude?
It’s funny how the feelings we’re unearthing seem to be at the opposite ends of the spectrum. But it’s always been like that, hasn’t it? Just imagine me smiling while you agonize over whether you truly deserve me or not. Though, I don’t think you need me to tell you what the answer to that is.
What did I see in you? Well, I’m not telling you if you don’t already know. My keeper, have a little more faith in yourself.
I’ll see you soon.
Yours,
Cloud Nine
My cumuliform friend,
We might see each other before you manage to read this. But even so, this close to my departure date, I had to get it down on paper somehow.
I can’t face you feeling so unsure of myself. I’m trying to convince myself that I’m deserving of whatever you have to give me—and I know by now it’s far more than what you had to give before—but I still have my doubts. I don’t know why. You of all people would tell me to embrace it shamelessly, with arms wide open and no regard for the future consequences. I feel like I’ve implicated myself, consorting with a fugitive. But, how would you put it… Breaking the law is supposed to make me feel more… “sexy?”
I think that’s always been a part of my attraction to you: you’ve always had a wildly different perspective, which I learned to appreciate and assimilate over time. I felt a special connection whenever we managed to agree on some value or belief that we both shared, perhaps because it happened so rarely. I spent so much time debating with you and trying to get you to agree with me, despite the fact that by then the trajectories of our lives had so massively diverted. I might have wanted to win the argument, but even more than that, and before I had realized it myself, I wanted you to like me. I wanted to become someone you respected, because I admired you in all your audacity. I don’t think I quite realized why then. I was just upset that you were looking in my direction without seeing me.
Even now I feel like we’re still talking over each other, that despite all our efforts we’re still not seeing eye to eye. I can sense the rift closing, but the gap that’s left feels impossible to surmount. I know you care about me. You’ve made that clear by now. I’d be happy with just that. I shouldn’t feel compelled to seek out any more—but I do.
I think, for a long time, I was worried about what would happen if it didn’t work out. I didn’t even want to try to pursue the idea if it would put you in harm’s way. I thought keeping you safe meant following protocol to the letter. I didn’t want to give them any reason to suspect you. But you weren’t happy. You didn’t want the protection. I’m not sure you even felt safe despite all the precautions I was taking. Maybe you felt I was coddling you… I don’t know. You can tell me all about that later.
I was afraid of the consequences. Being in love with you always carried some degree of risk. It certainly does, now. Your flagrant disregard for the rules always seemed needlessly scary. Wasn’t following them simpler than trying to find ways around them? Why did you have to make life so complicated for yourself?
But the rules were wrong. I was wrong. And maybe accepting that was scariest of all. It’s hard to navigate the world when the answers to matters of even minor significance aren’t so clear-cut. Maybe that’s why people are so unwilling to question them. It’s easier to accept what you’ve been given than to chase after solutions that might not even exist. What if the path that lies at the end of all of your questioning leads to nothing but despair?
Change doesn’t happen so long as you accept your current reality as settled fact. You’re right about that. You have to challenge yourself—your own ideas, your own perspective—if you’re unhappy. That goes for you, but of course, that goes for me, too.
What if it doesn’t work out? Then I can say I tried my best. I have to weigh the risks; I have to make the decision; and I have to take responsibility for what I ultimately did.
What if it doesn’t work out? Then at least I can say that I did it with eyes wide open, without anyone else telling me what to do.
I take it back. I’m not sending this.
I love you, Mostima: my cruelest demon and my brightest light.
[11:59] F: I’m at the meeting point. Let me know if you’re running late.
[12:15] F: Mostima?
...
[12:45] T: Did she make it?
[12:45] F: No.
[12:45] T: Punctuality isn’t exactly a habit of hers.
...
[4:45] F: Mostima
[4:45] F: What happened to you?