Chapter 4.6 - Faithful Correspondent

Dear Willow,

I’ve never been very good at this letter-writing thing. I’ve never been great at anything that requires a lot of concentration (as you’ve probably figured out, remember how you always trounced me at Sim Fu?) But I’m going to try to be better at it, because I’ve only been gone for a week and I already miss you so much it feels like there’s something missing from me. If you’ve ever heard any of those strange stories about phantom limbs, you know how I feel when I’m away from you. Even when I’m seeing beautiful new things, things that take my breath away, all I can think is that I wish you were here with me. I can imagine your reactions so clearly. I do love what I’m doing, though. I don’t think we’ve ever talked about it really, but you know how I feel about the past. Searching for signs of werewolf presence at known anthropological research sites is a dream come true for me. The only thing missing is you. You’re the only one I really want to tell when I make a new discovery. I’ve found myself turning to you to see your reaction or ask your advice or just talk to you, but you’re not there. I can still smell your laundry detergent on my clothes, and sometimes if I close my eyes I can fool myself into thinking that I’m smelling you next to me. But I have to sign off now if I want to get this letter sent today, and we’ll be traveling again tomorrow. I’m enclosing the address where you’ll next be able to find me, so please write back soon. In case you couldn’t tell, I miss you.

Always yours,

Conor

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Dear Conor,

I think you’re a lot better at letter-writing than you give yourself credit for. I miss you, too, so much that it aches somewhere deep inside. You talk about phantom limbs? I feel like someone hollowed out one of my organs, and I can feel where it used to be. But I try not to focus too much on that feeling. If I spent every moment of my day missing you, I could never accomplish everything that needs to be done. I feel that pain every day, but I channel it into productivity. I don’t have any other choice. I’m relatively lucky that Flora’s such an easy child. She’s mature beyond her years, and I appreciate that, as much as I hate the events that led her to be that way. I wish you could have gotten to know her better while you were still here. She’s Felix’s daughter, but I’ve raised her every step of the way. She’s mine in every way that counts, and sometimes I feel like people don’t realize that. They all give me pitying looks and express their sympathy and say things like, “It must be so hard for you.” They don’t understand that yes, it’s hard, but as down as I sometimes get, I will always appreciate having Flora. I feel like maybe I might have given you the wrong impression about her while you were here. I’ve never once resented Flora. Resented her parents, yes. Resented the circumstances surrounding her, yes. But I could never be angry at or resentful of Flora. She’s the only good thing about this whole mess. As always, I wish you were here.

With love,

Willow

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Dear Willow,

I still miss you, but it’s a little more bearable now. I’ve been taking your advice and throwing myself into work, which is endlessly fascinating. I’ve found evidence, if only very faint evidence, of werewolf activity at about one in every three sites, which is far more than I was anticipating. It seems to imply some very interesting things about werewolf history - sorry, one of my colleagues found something she wanted me to take a look at. I won’t bore you with all the long details of my work, but it’s been really good for me. I still wish you could be here with me, but… I guess I’m beginning to resign myself to reality. I still think about you daily, I still treasure your letters, but… the smell of your detergent has faded from my clothes. They just smell like the soap they use at the laundromat now. I dreamed about you the other night. We were back in our clearing, and you were sparring with that tree the way you always would to try and show me what Sim Fu looked like, and I was laying on the shore of the pond and laughing at you the way I always would, but then you turned back to me and we weren’t kids anymore. You lay down next to me and whispered something in my ear, but when I woke up, I couldn’t remember what you said. I’m sorry this letter is a jumbled mess, but I told you I wasn’t any good at letter writing, and my head doesn’t seem quite right. I keep getting the feeling that there’s something wrong, but I can’t pin down what it is. No matter what, I love you.

Always yours,

Conor

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Dear Conor,

I miss you too, and hearing about your work doesn’t bore me. Even if it was something really dry, the way you explain it makes it interesting, and it isn’t really dry. I would love to hear about anything that has fascinating implications about werewolf culture. I still dream about the pond sometimes too. I went back there a few weeks ago, just to see if the magic was still there, but without you, it was just a lonely clearing in the woods. About there being something wrong… please come home as soon as you can. There’s something we need to talk about in person.

With love,

Willow

Author's Note: I still like writing epistolary style. I feel like it lets me explore... monologue, sort of? It's fun. Next time: not baby, actually, I managed to write more than one chapter of pregnancy this time. But lead-up to baby!