Chapter Text
Dearest Mischa,
I met the most interesting man today, Mischa. Rude and arrogant in ways that would quite usually find appalling, yet I find him interesting ways I don’t think I understand yet- he himself said I was not interesting to him, but as I saw a darkness in him I believe I saw that lie.
And there was a darkness, something underneath his pale scarred skin- something which caught my eye more than one would like to admit, but there was something underneath the mans chrysalis. I do believe, for the first time since you, mylima, I have someone more. I just have to wait and see. What lies underneath the charming Will Graham.
Goodnight, Mischa
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Mischa,
I have become a father, Mischa. A little wolf disguised in a lamb’s cloth, as I was all those years ago.
Her name is Abigail. Its Hebrew meaning would be ‘a fathers joy’, seeing as her biological father killed girls in resemblance of her I’m not quite sure how to interpret the meaning.
Sharing the responsibility for her, would be Will, a man who I have come to understand is entering my thoughts more than I would like.
He killed her father, and now I plan for us to take over the role together.
I saw a darkness in Will when he killed Abigail’s father, a darkness latent and festering deep within.
I can hear him calling for release, for release with me. I believe that’s why I cannot forget about him, nor his eyes, because underneath is a creature that needs me in the way I needed you.
Perhaps a little different than you, but the feeling of being needed has returned all the same, even if Will has yet to realize it. Even if Abigail has yet to realize it, they both need me in a way I haven’t been needed since you.
I feel like I have forgotten this feeling- all the while I know it never left.
I truly never stopped being a father, even after you left me, Mischa.
Now I am a father again, to another girl, who will never get to meet you. As I lost my sister and daughter years ago with you, Mischa, my next will never get to know hers.
Goodnight, mylima.
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Mischa,
It was cold today.
It snowed late last night, and I dreamt of you.
It was spring, we were in the fields looking for the best flower to braid into your hair. You loved it when I did that, because you smelt of sweetness, the sun, and the blossoms from our youth.
I woke up to the cold, and you were gone.
If I close my eyes long enough- I try and trick myself into thinking that I am still seated next to you, holding your little hand in mine. I can imagine taking in a deep enough breath and smelling the wind in your hair.
Do you feel me with you? Do you know that I am still there, wherever you are?
Goodnight, Mylima. And dream of warmth and spring, I will be waiting.
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Mischa,
His eyes are a wonder, Mischa.
He never makes eye contact- yet today he found it in himself to look at me.
It was like seeing a Bocelli work with my very eyes. This beautiful, odd, and rude man, who has invaded my thoughts.
They are so very blue. It’s maddening to look in his eyes and see the sky. Only for him to look away and deflect. On his problems and his very obvious need for me to guide him and his Becoming.
I think he has realized his potential, but not the extent of it. And it scares him more than he would like to admit that he likes what he sees. As do I.
I think I shall sketch him for you, Mischa, you always did appreciate beautiful odd things- far more than I. If this Will Graham cannot escape my thoughts, I believe it would only be fair to find away for him to escape. Even if it’s on paper.
I hope you enjoy my art and interpretation of him, you often did. Just imagine his eyes being so very blue. I fear I cannot give them justice without ruining them at all.
I hope my art finds your soul well, Mischa. Goodnight.
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Mischa,
I don’t know why today was different. But I woke up missing you more than the burn I live with everyday.
I stayed in bed longer than I would have liked. Everything this morning took longer than it should’ve, because I could barely breath without it hurting. I couldn’t move knowing you wouldn’t be down the hall waiting for me.
You’ve never even been to Baltimore but I can imagine how you’d make your room. You’d love to see the ballet with me, you always loved to dance. I don’t imagine you’d find the city that appealing, you always were a wild thing.
I can feel myself getting older, Mischa. And I know that I am soon going to reach another year without you.
I have lived more of my life without your presence than I did with you. I think about that, at night.
How unfair a God must be to take away your soul so young knowing the monster that is mine, and granting me a lifetime without you.
I’m stuck staring at my page, should I etch your face here- to remind myself once again who you were? What you looked like? Or would it be better to forget your face with time, only seeing them in the dreams few and far between where you turn to look at me.
I think I might hate those dreams the most.
To see you so clearly and wake up with you gone.
My heart hurts today, Mischa. Sometimes I wonder if I would have been better never loving you at all.
Goodnight, my dear Mischa
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Mischa,
Will is sick, mažoji sesutė
His brain is setting itself on fire.
I could smell it on him when I stood close, he jumped and questions my actions, and I had to bring up his atrocious cologne. Honestly, Mischa, he smells like an overeager high school boy and the sweet scent of sickness all together. Without his cologne he has a rather pleasant scent, one I’ve only encountered once since meeting, and purely because it was early on in the morning.
His sickness will aide in his Becoming, and my goal is he will find his healing and solace with me. Whispering through the Chrysalis I will become the monster he needs. As I have begun to need him.
Needing another person after so long, and in a different way, is such an odd experience. One I never thought I would live through again. Sometimes I think it would be easier to get rid of Will, but then I realize deep down I think what I miss most is someone knowing my monster as you did, and accepting it as apart of me. While I did not truly become who I am till Florence- you always knew what was there. And you still loved me, Mischa. Is it wrong to want that once more?
Goodnight, my dear Mischa
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Mischa,
I made dinner last night, with aubergine.
A simple and plain pasta I know you would have adored if you were with me.
I think I might plant some this summer, in the garden behind the house.
You always did love when I found them for you, and you always loved the specific type of purple.
Would it hurt any less if I found a way to incorporate you in my life more? Or would the pain sting every time I see what I tried to replace your presence with.
Goodnight, My dear Mischa.
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Mischa,
Will asked about our spots today, and I felt as though my heart had stopped.
I try to ignore them, whenever I look in the mirror. Pretend the beauty marks that connected us were never there to begin with.
I hadn’t noticed them until you did.
I still remember the day so clearly in my mind.
Little fingers poking my cheek, and your voice loud with giggles about how we matched.
I didn’t understand till you dragged us to the washroom and pulled your face next to mine in the mirror.
Cheek to cheek, we had spots in the same place, just different sides.
And we did match. In the sizing, spacing, coloring of those beauty marks. The only difference was which cheek it was on. Which to me, always made it even more perfect. Because when you placed our heads together, they sat on our faces side by side, our spots.
That’s what you ended up calling them- our spots.
When you would cry, I would always lean down and give them a peck, and you would do the same.
When I first saw my reflection in the orphanage after you, I broke the mirror with my bare hands.
Our spots had suddenly become just mine.
When Will asked, I almost talked about you. About how you had a dimple in between them that would crinkle when you smiled.
Talking about you to Will would only make my connection to him more real.
It would make your loss more real.
Maybe one day, he will learn your name. Hold it as close to his heart as I do with yours and his.
But not while he still resists our monsters.
Goodnight, mažoji sesutė. I hope to dream and see your spots.
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Mischa,
I have not written, and I am sorry.
It seems that I am sorry about a lot of things recently.
Most importantly, I am sorry about Will Graham.
I framed him, Mischa, to help him see his monster. To change him in ways that he has changed me.
But I sit during our time in which he would usually be with me, knowing he isn’t coming, and it hurts.
I don’t understand why my design is failing me, and I don’t understand my need for him.
It’s different than needing you.
I want to know Will Graham in ways that I have never known another person. I have never craved an intimacy like this.
I want to argue with him in the mornings, he never eats breakfast, and I would provide it.
I want to go to bed with him next to me, I want to know what he dreams of. How he felt dreaming it.
I want to fulfill every single one of his hungers and desires. I want him to ask or beg so I can be the one to give him it all. I would do the very same if he asked. As above or below. I want him to need me in the ways I have begun to need him.
To see him hunt would be glorious, Mischa.
Together we could be what Achilles and Patroclus could have been.
But he sits in the cell I put him in as I wait.
I think I need to fix this, Mischa.
Goodnight, miela sesutė.
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Mischa,
Will is with me once again. He has come home to me.
I thought my failings of him would fester a more long term resentment- and while he did send a lesser hunter to aid in my death, it seems he has found forgiveness in his heart.
It would be the same for me, I believe.
There are very few things that I think would make me hate Will Graham, and I don’t think I would ever have to actually experience those things.
I am helping in his Becoming, while he has started to want me in the same way.
I don’t have the right words for my feelings. For the first time in my life, a positive feeling has left me without my words. In any of the languages.
I hope wherever you are, mylima, you got a love like this.
Goodnight, Mischa
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I have been betrayed, Mischa.
My Will lied, and told the truth too late.
I feel as though I am mourning you all over again, and perhaps I am.
Abigail died by my hands, Will was left bleeding.
I think what I hate the most is that I still love him, Mischa.
I still need him, and he needed me, but he refused his change. He refused me.
Am I stuck in this world to keep having what I love be taken or denied from me?
I lost you, Mischa. One of the only things I ever loved.
I started to love Abigail, she was a little monster I could have help build in ways I was never helped.
And the man who holds my heart denied me once again.
I gutted him like a pig and held him in my arms, and I still could not bear to leave him. I felt another piece of me die tonight when I walked away. As I now have to face a life I built for the three of us without them.
I am tired, Mischa. I miss you and I miss my dear Will.
Goodnight.