Mary Anne Bell (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
song_tra_bong) wrote2006-01-11 12:50 am
song_tra_bong) wrote2006-01-11 12:50 am
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[ooc: Millitimed to not long after this conversation.]
Mary Anne's mother was prolific when it came to letter writing. Thank you notes, congratulatory letters, just a few lines to let someone know she was thinking of them--she was always writing letters. She tried to pass on this trait to her daughter.
Mary Anne didn't take to it as much as her mother had. Tonight, however, she has cause, so she sits down and writes her first letter in three years.
Dear Ramon,
Since we don’t do well talking in person, I’m writing this letter that I’ll never send. There’s a lot of things I want to talk to you about. Mostly I just want to talk to you. This’ll have to do for now.
I kissed a girl on New Year’s Eve. Her name was Coyote and, to be fair, she kissed me first. I was a pretty active participant in the other two kisses, though. We toasted the New Year with champagne. It was nice, but it would have been better with you. (The toasting, not the kissing, unless you were taking pictures of the kissing. Not that you’re a bad kisser. Not that I’d know. Should I ask Random?)
Speaking of Random, I still owe you two a Christmas present. I may give the necessary materials to Random and let him use it on your birthday. But you won’t know it’s from me.
I suppose I should explain why I offered you the knife out by the lake.
I betrayed you. I went away with a man who would love to see you dead. Who hurts your lover at any opportunity. Who hates that you two are together. I never forget what he is, what he would do to any of us. Because I know, given cause, he would kill me too. I am not his creature, Ramon. I’m not. Just because he’s been in my bed doesn’t place me in his thrall.
If I’m anyone’s creature, I’m yours. Which is why I gave you the knife.
You deserve retribution, not cutting words and disdainful glares, but blood. I would have given you my blood, my life—I’d have opened my throat myself, if you’d asked. The offer still stands.
I meant it when I said I’m your friend always. I would follow you to Hell and back with no other reason needed than you were going. I don’t know what you think of me now, if you think of me at all. As much as that hurts, it doesn’t matter. Because I’m still your friend. Anything I have or can provide is yours.
I just wish you knew it.
I miss you.
I love you.
—Mary Anne
That done, she places the letter reverently in her nightstand drawer. Part of her contemplates burning it in the morning. But she won't.
For now, it will be kept safe.
Mary Anne's mother was prolific when it came to letter writing. Thank you notes, congratulatory letters, just a few lines to let someone know she was thinking of them--she was always writing letters. She tried to pass on this trait to her daughter.
Mary Anne didn't take to it as much as her mother had. Tonight, however, she has cause, so she sits down and writes her first letter in three years.
Dear Ramon,
Since we don’t do well talking in person, I’m writing this letter that I’ll never send. There’s a lot of things I want to talk to you about. Mostly I just want to talk to you. This’ll have to do for now.
I kissed a girl on New Year’s Eve. Her name was Coyote and, to be fair, she kissed me first. I was a pretty active participant in the other two kisses, though. We toasted the New Year with champagne. It was nice, but it would have been better with you. (The toasting, not the kissing, unless you were taking pictures of the kissing. Not that you’re a bad kisser. Not that I’d know. Should I ask Random?)
Speaking of Random, I still owe you two a Christmas present. I may give the necessary materials to Random and let him use it on your birthday. But you won’t know it’s from me.
I suppose I should explain why I offered you the knife out by the lake.
I betrayed you. I went away with a man who would love to see you dead. Who hurts your lover at any opportunity. Who hates that you two are together. I never forget what he is, what he would do to any of us. Because I know, given cause, he would kill me too. I am not his creature, Ramon. I’m not. Just because he’s been in my bed doesn’t place me in his thrall.
If I’m anyone’s creature, I’m yours. Which is why I gave you the knife.
You deserve retribution, not cutting words and disdainful glares, but blood. I would have given you my blood, my life—I’d have opened my throat myself, if you’d asked. The offer still stands.
I meant it when I said I’m your friend always. I would follow you to Hell and back with no other reason needed than you were going. I don’t know what you think of me now, if you think of me at all. As much as that hurts, it doesn’t matter. Because I’m still your friend. Anything I have or can provide is yours.
I just wish you knew it.
I miss you.
I love you.
—Mary Anne
That done, she places the letter reverently in her nightstand drawer. Part of her contemplates burning it in the morning. But she won't.
For now, it will be kept safe.