Letter the First

[theabjectauthor]

[in the early morning, Lemony slipped out of the castle, shrouded from the knees down in a fog that rose off the snow, giving it all the appearance that it had a ghostly double lying on top of it, vying for space. wisps of it rose from the cobblestones and danced over the ice in the town fountain. by the time he reached the door of Violet's workshop, her guardian was rubbing his gloved hands together against the chill, so that they would not fumble as he quietly worked his messenger bag open. the leather straps protested slightly in the cold, but he was able to withdraw the letter carefully folded within, and slip it through the mail slot, sure not to catch the scarlet wax seal on the brass as it dropped. there was a flutter deep in his chest, as though he had set a bird free, rather than a message, and he nodded once to himself before turning away.

cold or no cold, morning was the best time to explore a town. perhaps he'd find some fresh greens at a grocer for his friend Jennifer to eat, now that she was a turtle, or a small cafe where he could sit and enjoy a cup of tea. the day that stretched out in front of him was entirely his... and he wasn't quite sure what to do with it. it felt oddly light...

one long, heavy letter lighter, as a matter of fact.

there were a lot of things he didn't know what to do with, these days. and he was beginning to find that it was a surprisingly pleasant feeling.]


Dearest Violet and Sunny,

Are you familiar with the idea of the palimpsest? It is a Latin word, which refers to a document which has had its previous contents scraped or erased away, so that the paper can be used again for a new purpose. The word itself comes from Greek for "scraped again", as paper used to be made from much stronger material, from which the ink truly could be scraped away. In many cases, when the paper was used for a second time, the marks made by its former writer could still be seen beneath the new letters.

I am not saying this to teach you a new sort of code, though it is true that palimpsests can be a very fine delivery method for messages one would rather keep secret. You may search this letter all you like, and you will see no afterimage, no ghosts of letters past. And yet, I still feel as though this letter is a palimpsest, as the things I wish to write to you about carry the echoes of messages I wrote long ago, even while I would speak of things that are entirely, wholly, heart-poundingly new. It may also help to think of the things I have already disclosed to you as part of this palimpsest, so that I do not find myself knee-deep in the tedious - a word which here means "causing a waste of ink and cramping hands" - chore of repeating myself.

Many times, I have said that I am honored by the opportunity to be your guardian, but it is not the sort of honor one feels upon receiving the key to a city, a trophy for a spelling bee, a larger office in a corner with brightly lit windows, or even a free scoop of ice cream on a hot day for being patient and waiting in line while other less responsible people ahead of you have dropped their ice cream on the pavement for careless reasons and lost it forever. It is the sort of honor that comes with knowing that you are the keeper of a treasure: like the boy with the key to the magical cupboard, or the young beginning spy with a notebook full of dear secrets, or the girl who finds a garden and learns to make it grow. But it is so, so much more than that, when one considers the palimpsest beneath: if, for example, the boy had once had another cupboard which shattered, or the spy a secret that could not be kept, or the girl had once lost a vast and singular greenhouse in a terrible fire. Imagine, then, the way they would feel upon discovering such treasures or being entrusted with them. It would not matter if the cupboard was made of sturdier, more shatterproof material, or the notebook were the sort that could be written in in the rain or locked with a key, or the garden were full of hardy plants that could grow back after being burnt. They would be treasures all the same, and even more dear for it.

A treasure is not always guarded because of its worth to others. Sometimes it is guarded because of what it means to the guardian.

Faithfully yours,


((OOC: Now that you've all enjoyed your dose of feelings, consider this an open town log.))

Comments

[theabjectauthor]

I have not, personally, though I am vaguely familiar with the concept, yes.... [his bros furrows. he doesn't like where this is going]

[cyan_maid]

[She gives him a sheepish smile. This isn't easy to admit, and she doesn't like bringing it up.] Well. At home, in the game, I...died. But my friend Dirk-

[And she's just had her fight with Dirk around now, so she pauses for a moment, biting her lip and reconsidering her words.]

...Well, I was brought back to life, and that's the important thing. I wouldn't have gotten that chance, if not for the game.

[theabjectauthor]

But... [he winces] Not that I mean any lack of gratitude or enthusiasm on regard to your continued existence... Quite far from it! ... But, you said that you died within the game. Does that not mean that if you had not played it in the first place, you would still be alive, regardless?

[cyan_maid]

Well...I'm not sure how to explain it, but I don't think I couldn't not play.

[theabjectauthor]

Out of a sense of obligation, or the careful and conniving forza del destino, as it were?

[cyan_maid]

Something like that, yes.

[theabjectauthor]

Hmm. ... [he walks with her in quiet thought for a block or so, then]

Do you think that game is worse than life here? Or would you call it comparable?

[cyan_maid]

[Yes, Jane likes the quiet walk of the block. She's still quiet at that question, honestly mulling it over.]

Well...in all respects, the game is pretty miserable right now. While I can't speak for my friends specifically, I remember feeling at my wit's end with it all. At least there are more people here.

[At least everything's alive, she wants to say.]

[theabjectauthor]

Then it sounds like a sort of game that isn't any fun, at all. I'm glad you're able to take comfort in your friends' presence here. .... If there's anything you need, even if it's to go for a walk, like this one, you know how to reach me.

[cyan_maid]

[She smiles up at you.]

Thank you. I appreciate the offer. [More than you know, even.]