Wed Mar 24, 2021 9:07 am
Mon Mar 29, 2021 12:22 am
I take a very great care in composing this response, perhaps more care than I have ever took with a letter—
It is perhaps me at my most impossible and agitated when I think too greatly of that past you describe. For it hurts very much to think of it. This is not a statement made to devallue your plight or discomfort or tru tro tramma from that time for I know that you lost your very dear love and I shall never possibly imagine that torment. But as always our letters find their way to this moment, and simultaneously, it is the moment we begin to turn claws upon one another.
If you remember it was I, with instinct intent to betray, that disruppted Ariane's entanglement. It was not merely breaking a spell: I developed, befriended, and then willfully destroyed the sense of reality possessed by someone else. Not Ariane, but her Counterfeit Self. She was a kind and yet misguided lady; she was a very impatient but very sweet soul. But most importantly, she was. Freeing Ariane from that prison using contradictions and her own rage and confusion also meant killing that Counterfeit Self, and it was a cruel thing I did. Sometimes I wake thinking of that moment when her belief was shattered; sometimes I think about how Syl was so patient and yet still loving of her; sometimes I drive myself to sickness thinking of it, because of all things that hurt, to be hated, truly hated as I was in that moment of her Counterfeit Self's breaking, is the most damaging.
And yet I hated Elliot Gahald. Because he was a Counterfeit Self and yet a real thing, too. One I could not shatter. One done too well.
It is very painful to recollect on that time of Rhaena's wrath. I lost many things. I was already a very lonely soul driven to greater loneliness. I performed destructive, damaging, and damning things simply so the world could hear me scream.
Then I went into the Golben because there was no one else to go into it save for those of us who did. Partially I hoped I would not come out of it.
Even after the end of it all, it stayed alive in my mind, Rhaena's rule. To compensate for what I had done in the Golben and elsewhere I did other terrible things. And only one other knows know this, but twice I deeply considered an Ending for myself, and once attempted, but proved too cowardly to seek out so full a freedom from this world. For I feared even in death I would painfully miss some good souls I had met, even if they did not miss me. But to reflect on this is self-indulgence, and I thank you for permitting it me; let us return moreso to the matter.
Why is talk of Rhaena's damage to Myrken Wood the point where our amiability breaks? Because it is a mirror through which you reflect for the future, and for me, a mirror which shows me only the past. I dread to think of it. I hate to think of it.
It is why I hate fae.
It is why I hate myself.
And then by your words and your actions you demand that I and the rest of Myrken Wood continuously reflect on it, as though There Is Something To Be Learned. But hear this, Glenn Burnie: there is nothing more to be learned by Rhaena and what she did and what we did and did not do and what you did and did not do. It is why I will let Elliot Brown fade into whatever half-life wonder he has found, for if he wishes to escape, then how dare I tether him here. Gods, what cruelty that is. What selfishness, what fucking selfishness.
And so it repeats. You know I believe you to be dangerously repeating your earlier habits, and should you repeat yours, then I shall surely repeat mine; I shall kill and destroy and damage some part of the world and some part of me and this time I do not think I can survive it within myself—
I have just recently found someone worth bettering myself for, and you in your endless search for levity and balance and reason and logic and pattern, intwining yourself with yet another witch of the mind, you would dare to threaten the first manner of my happiness in forever.
Do you love her, Glenn Burnie? Is she your friend?
Mon Mar 29, 2021 3:17 am
Tue Mar 30, 2021 1:35 am
But is it truly about the who for you, Glenn?
For Catch is more than inevitable cycles. I have seen him at joy and at play, have seen him driven by curiosities suited an infant and engaged with matters well beyond his and my capacity to understand. Catch is far more than a cycle; he is a living being, confused and selfish and charitable and prafoundly driven by impulse and he is flawed and requires comfort and possesses rage.
You did not answer my question, and without an answer I have every answer I require.
Before love and friendship the Fae is a stepping stone to progress and prosperity for you, and while you will deny this (I look forward to the letter) wholeheartedly, you cannot help but avoid all easy talk of friendship and heart and passion and compassion; to say "Yes she is my friend," or "Yes I love her." In this I feel poorly for her: a being, to be a who and not a what, needs first and foremost the confirmation from those around them that they possess value beyond the mere advancement of others or a race. For anything to be a who it must be separated from its component qualities and seen the same as all else; it must not exist as both a beloved entity and a method for buearacracie, for the latter will always overwhelm the former.
You possess too many grand schemes for the future and abjure anything which does not directly feed into them.
I am regularly possessed of thoughts of Genevieve. Almost at times these thoughts overweigh me. While she is away I write her letters I shall never give a courier, I try my hand at poor drawings to remember her face and its smallest features, I drink her favorite wine (it is a Derry Red, slightly cooler than a night's air), I badly try my hand at pies of meat and fruit (they are ashamed to be considered food), I organize and reorganize her books in their disarray, I know her laughter is higher-pitched than her voice, I think of how if she opens a book to find a page-bug she will howl like the dickens and then laugh herself half-ill; I know that she fears, distinctly, seeing all which exists in my unspoken thoughts not because of what she will find but because she is afraid she will take it without permission; I know she likes the color gray beyond most others because it is studious and sharp and handsome and yet requires none of this paltry worry about whether it shall clash with or highlight her hair or skin; I lose myself, I lose myself—
Who is your Fae? What is her favorite story, what is her most coveted food, what are her smallest fears (beyond iron of course) for which you will offer her endless protection, and what things in this world or hers force her to forget her own ambitions and return her to the state of a little girl? What dreams does she possess, what wonders empower her, what weaknesses of her mind must you be ready to lift? What insecurities broke her as a child, and what hopes warm her in her adutlhood? What drinks bring her comfort when she is enmired in frustration? What words does she hate beyond all others, simply because they sound infantile?
Are you her friend if you cannot fill pages with your praise of her and your wonderful frustration of her? Only her?
And if you cannot, then how could you ever expect to grow any new world at her side?
For you, the who is a matter of pageantrie alone; you have only ever cared about the what, about the fruits of knowledge not simply for knowing, but for how that knowledge shall benefit. And people very, very quickly tire of being commodities.
Tue Mar 30, 2021 6:55 am
Fri Apr 02, 2021 11:22 am
Every time I write I tell myself I will be kinder to you and more agreeable; I tell myself I shall put upon a smile on the page and begin fresh and new. But then I am reminded I have not got any necessity to please you or diminish the value of my own sentiment for the sake of your comfort, so alas, I say this with full satisfaction:
You are by far the most profound idiot I have ever met.
Note: profound aught to be seen as a compliment on its own. A cut above the rest. It is on idiot I hope you linger, because to this I aught to also attach the word willing. Whether I did not see it as a younger girl or whether I have discovered enough of the world to see it now, you have grown increasingly daft, unseeing, and ignorant as I have grown jaded, morose, and impatient. I hold steadfast every letter that you may have a revelation, and having seen Something of note in our exchanges, perhaps extracted your head from your own ass.
But I know this is not and never will be the case when I open your seal.
Know this: if you committed any of her secrets to the page, I would take you for not just an idiot, but a truly untrustworthy one. We deserve to share with others only that which is ours, and likewise, I count myself at least honorable enough not to ply you for details of her through clandesstin means. What I would not do is betray your friendship to her. What I would not do is betray my own values to myself.
Glenn, I am not asking to know if you are friends or lovers for my own satisfaction.
I am asking you for once to admit to yourself a thing which may be defined simply.
For I believe you are wholley incapable of simplicity where simplicity is best, and yes, any girl or woman begs for simplicity sometimes. Sometimes we wished to be told that we are loved and that is it, or we wished to be told we are pretty or handsome; or we wished to be complimented upon our choice of a dress or the form of our hair or the astuteness of our minds or the way when we laugh one eye thins; we like these things for they remind us that our presence satisfies you beyond the commission of an act of bureaucros buearacracy.
But if you make these sentiments complex, then the sentiments become about you. They become about your ability to express them, not our ability to be felt.
Simplicity. Vulnerability. These are golden values.
The Nameless know, if I cannot inspire you to kill your initiatives for an interconnected future, I can at least instruct you on the proper ways to see another being instead of seeing them as the next distraction, the next engagement, the newest and most exciting Thing before the next newest and most exciting Thing comes into your space.
I believe Ariane would call you a fool. I do not speak for her, but I would cheerily take you up on this, were we to both present our sides to her.
Sat Apr 03, 2021 3:19 am
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