Work Text:
Dearest—
Winter roses are such beautiful things, are they not? With imagination, we can create them and even destroy them. Just like them, I, too, am a fragment of your imagination. I, too, was built, nurtured, destroyed and loved. As I write this, dear, I shed tears. (But worry not, the sun will soak them by the end of this letter.) It is almost afternoon, and the palace is quiet. Your disciples are ecstatic as they offer some help for the celebration. In our chamber, I can hear the music of the hollow wind, and our daughter is well-loved. The Imperial Guard brought me a few scriptures and books from my master. He said that you and the Priestess had selected them for me. Thank you for that. My mother insisted on joining the celebration, so she had come at midnight, quite daring, right? I seem to be like her, too.
You have been gone for only a month, yet my heart aches whenever I study scripts alone, at night. I must sound selfish, but for once, I wish to be. I dearly miss your voice, Biyoo does too. It is a shame to covet something inequitable. I can solemnly ever think of a life which does not wish to include you, Biyoo and our companions.
I happened to come across an early portrait of our wedding day, Joonghyuk. It was a rolled copy neatly hidden inside the library. If I can recall correctly, that day, your smile struck many hearts. “He smiled, did you see?”—I was glad that day. Thank you. Your sister misses you, too. These days, she has been sleeping in our chamber, holding Biyoo against her.
Dear, I do not wish for you to feel trapped with guilt. Release yourself from the barricade, please.
By the time dusk embraces our country, I will be asleep while our physician tries to cure my unyielding illness. And by night, you will receive a message about it, Joonghyuk. I must sound so selfish again.
Spring brings joy, but I seem to have disrupted nature. Tomorrow, as you trod from the North, I must already be in deep slumber, unable to be woken. When I write to you, I feel loved, Joonghyuk. So, as I continue these words, I am feeling loved. After tomorrow, when you read this, I hope your tears will not wet the pages. I wanted to add a little humour, apologies.
Dearest, after tomorrow, the Sun will rise like it always does. The birds will sing, and Biyoo would cry as her right grows cold, because I would not be there to cradle her. Your sister will learn the vows with the Priestess, the Imperial Guard will help the army with training, and my mother will bicker with you. Dearest, even if I am gone, there resides a piece of me within everyone in this palace. So, dearest, as you hold a special place within my soul and me, you will be loved more dearly. (Not like you were not before.)
Dearest Joonghyuk, I have loved you first, and I will keep loving you the most, even in the afterworld. So, as you tend to the Winter Roses in your dreams, I hope that you will imagine me by your beautiful garden.
Love, always
Dokja