La très chère sylphe,

Going slowly mad without you; every new day with no word from you I feel I lose a little of my self.

I tried to see you, that night — perhaps you won't believe me. It makes no difference now. I've replayed our last meeting three dozen times at least, and each time I end up with a better version of events, a way I wish that things had gone. We can't undo the past and the future seems uncertain, but please — let us take a little of the present for ourselves, while we still can.

Meet me.

yours still, in spite of everything

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@"Sophia Voss"

Enclosed: the address of a hotel in Brighton, complete with a room number; a date and time; a spritz of the cinnamon-and-clove cologne.

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   Sophia Lissington

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MJ is the light of my life <3

There was no world where Sophia would write him back, even if she could. And if she could, she would not, as that would be even more ill-advised than his letter to her. What did he think he would bloody accomplish, by sending her such a letter? Sophia had read it several times. I feel I lose a little of my self. Did he think she would feel sorry for him? Did he think her stupid? Restlessness drove pen to paper.

You know that I cannot possibly see you. There are so many reasons we cannot ever see each other again

Sophia crumpled up the paper, abrupt as the pang in her heart.

There is no better version of events, certainly not for someone like me

Sophia does not need his pity.

This is much greater than just the two of us now, and you know this. We cannot pretend

Sophia did not want to encourage him.

I cannot meet you. I am afraid of what you'll do to me and our

"Ah," the gasp left the ballerina's lips as her quill dropped like the words just bit her. Though Sophia never backed down from fear before, pride was a luxury she could not afford. It wasn't the hit to her pride that stung, however. It was the uncomfortable, unsettling truth... The nasty voice that twisted his written words, that clove and cinnamon that taunted her with entrapment. Sophia did not wish to believe that Ozymandias Dempsey may resort to extreme measures if she went to meet him, but she must.

If she were in his position, she would.

Heat colored Sophia's cheeks pink and pricked the corners of her eyes. She felt disgusted with herself, with how badly she wished to see him. First his bloody fucking wife, with her daughter's well-being a token for revenge. Then her failures as a mother, her selfishness, her certain failure with the baby growing in her now --- the world was closing in on her, Sophia felt herself suffocating, the end was imminent... and yet she still wondered... Does he miss me? Outside her door, a woman called out to her. "Sophia? The seamstress is here for your fitting..."

Sophia took a deep, long breath. Then in in one rash movement she stood, gesturing the letter and her half-written notes into the rubbish bin where it all singed with her fury.

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thank you gin for the set<3

Sophia,

I waited for you.

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MJ is the light of my life <3

A small note on plain parchment was delivered by mysterious means into Ozymandias’ pocket on December 12th. It included a neatly printed address for a personal home on a beachy coast of Ireland. Any inquiry into this may reveal it as the home of Professor Augustus Lissington, a prominent curse breaker and currently at Hogwarts. Below it, not many more specifics.

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December 18th
Anytime from 3pm onwards
I will wait for you.

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thank you gin for the set<3