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To my dearest dreamer,
Happy birthday to both you and me. This March 31st, it has been almost a whole year since I've existed separate from you, and if you were still alive, you would be twenty-two years old and yet still "seventeen" at heart. I don't remember when you were seventeen, so I'm not sure if you did either, but when I play your favourite song, "Anthems For A Seventeen-Year-Old Girl," I feel a resonance, and it's almost like you're still here with me.
Even though I've been doing nothing but continuing the things you did in life, you still feel so far away, and it makes me wonder if it says something about me or something about you and the way you used to live. Was it always this empty? At least I have Cas and Emi looking after me; all you had as a constant presence leading up to your death were your cats; the rest of your family far, far away.
Speaking of which, do you remember them? Cas and Emi? They've been keeping me company a month or so after my exile; it just got too lonely to bear, and I deeply craved the embrace of a living, breathing being. At the time, I kept going back and forth on whether I wanted an older sister or an older brother, and the next thing I knew, I was two eyes short but gained two older siblings in return. It's nice.
I decided to keep their names the same as you gave them: Cassiopeia Emily and Emile Castellano. Even though in Greek myth, Cassiopeia was the name of a vain queen, something you didn't know at the time, the name itself is still beautiful, and even though the name Emile is not as grand, the surname Castellano is still nostalgic, no?
Cas was actually the one who convinced me to write you this letter, to help me feel a little closer to you, and yet, now that I'm writing this, I'm not quite sure how else to continue it, and it makes me wonder if you struggled with similar issues back in life. The struggle to talk about yourself because there just never was something to talk about.
It still made me think, though… about your life and the world inside your mind, the one that gave birth to me, and died alongside you. That was one of your biggest worries, wasn't it? For your stories to die alongside yourself? Because for as much as you loved to dream, you always struggled to put your hands and eyes to work, didn't you?
I know because I'm the exact same as you.
Even though it's a bit too late for a New Year's resolution, I wanted to try anyway in your stead. To write the stories that you dreamed about, at least one chapter before this year ends, because knowing me and knowing you, it will take an eternity and a half just for me to be satisfied with what I write.
I found your AO3 account shortly after my exile. You were always good at starting stories but struggled to continue them. When I scroll through your works… I couldn't help but feel both embarrassed… yet also nostalgic, because these were your favorite parts of your high school years. It feels like a bit of a hassle to create my own account when this one gives me access to every one of your favorite stories, so instead I tried to clean this one up a bit. I put everything that still held a place in your heart in a special library and orphaned everything else, and with this new blank slate, I will pick up your pen and try and scribe the histories of your internal worlds so that they may exist somewhere, even if no one else sees them.
That will be my birthday gift to you, to go alongside the birthday cake you'll never get to taste. And although most would scold me for making light of your death, the fact that you won't be able to taste another cake is the saddest thing to me, because it reminds me of all the other things you'll never get to have again.
Today marks the first Night of Anamnesis, and once the next one arrives, I hope there will be others alongside me to fill your eternal slumber with precious, romantic stories.
Thinking of you always,
Callophelia Rosefsky, your first Merakian Prototype.