Work Text:
A letter penned on heavy parchment using a rich purple ink, dark enough to nearly read as black until the light flows over it just right. Before opening, the letter had been sealed with a dollop of black wax, inlaid not with the sigil of House Dellamorte but instead with a single and bold fingerprint, its whorls and lines perfectly captured. It likely stung to cast, but was deemed worth it by the one who sealed these pages together. The wax held a loop of navy silk ribbon, wound around three pages folded together. When opened, the letter within carries the faintest scent of familiar cologne, rarely but specifically worn by one Lucanis Dellamorte. Another scent, stranger and whisping, lingers alongside it, oddly reminding one of dreams…
My Dearest Azzurra,
Spite tells me that if I say your name against this parchment, you will be able to hear me saying it. I do not believe him, but I have done so all the same. He laughed after, but I am unsure if it was the fact that I listened or if it was the reverence with which I spoke. I choose to not be ashamed of either.
I know, in the past, the celebrations of your nameday have not been to your liking. I wish we had more than one day a year for me to uncover a precise means of celebrating, but I do think you would like that even less. But it is my promise to you that, for each year we are so lucky as to have together, I will continue to work toward perfecting the way I cherish you, care for you, and celebrate you. I hope this letter proves a suitable celebration this year, as it is intended to be one that you can keep.
The year behind us brought us both struggle and promise, and helped us grow as people—not just as individuals but together. We have found ourselves stronger yet than we have ever been. To this day, I have difficulties reconciling the man I was with the man you have helped me become; you have remade me and I am better for it. Through your strength, your determination, and the occasional punch thrown before anyone can say otherwise, I have come to see the world in a new light and that very light emanates from you—to it, to you, I will always remain utterly devoted. Both Spite and I have a thousand and one things to be grateful to you for. I hope that you know that, without a doubt, you may always turn to us in any time of need. We are yours, always.
ALWAYS.
Ah. Apologies. As you see, Spite certainly agrees.
I hope you, too, see the ways in which you have grown between your last nameday and this one. You have blossomed as a person, undeniably, and I am thrilled to see the ways in which you become your truest self in the years to come. It is as though watching a painting come to be, each stroke enriching you. The amber confidence that you carry yourself with now, and the celadon resilience that defends you from being bent or broken by anything that comes your way. But more importantly… the heather softness that lets you be still in quiet moments. The vermilion love that allows me to hold your hands in mine. The saffron brilliance that drives you to strive for a world and a life always better than the one you had a day before.
Even now, as I write, I look at you in the garden, tending and caring to blooms and shoots, and I am shaken, Azzurra. What have I done to earn the right to be beside you? What good have I done to balance the scales and be to blessed as to be yours? I am drawn to my knees in awe over you, and I would gladly kneel again and again for the opportunity to continue loving you.
I forget the intent of this letter. There may have been something specific I intended to share with you, or a perfect thing I had hoped to say to convey my gratitude at celebrating another nameday with you. However, it seems my soul has decided to lose itself to these words and… meander through my delight at loving you. Happiest nameday to you, my beloved Azzurra. May this day be a blessed reminder of survival, resilience, wonder, and my love for you.
As a final note, it is my hope that you will join me in the kitchen for a meal for two three tonight (though he will not be eating, and I will not include the lewd comments he is electing to share with me as I write this). I have been preparing all day (which, I apologize, is why I had to get out of bed so early this morning). I have obtained fresh seafood with which to make us a paella to share, as well as acqua pazza, which I saw you eying at that stall we passed in Treviso last week. You will be very excited to see the wine I have selected to accompany our dinner, and I look forward to showing you the cake I have made.
You remain beloved to me, for all time, and I look forward to celebrating this nameday with you. Just us. I look forward to celebrating with you for years and years to come, Azzurra.
Ti amo con tutto me stesso.
Yours,
Lucanis Dellamorte
P.S. Spite would like you to know that he has communicated his own feelings and thoughts on the additional page contained within. I cannot quite make sense of what he has drawn, but he insists that you will be able to understand.
[On the final page, there is an elaborate diagram drawn, consisting of circular shapes, sharp points like daggers and claws alike, spirals vaguely reminiscent of compasses with twisting arrows, and broad strokes that give some semblance of gestures and language alike. Wordless but powerful, through this sigil Spite has conveyed his joy, his obsession, his affection, his adoration, and his intent to hold fast for all time]