Fall - 1893

Another letter. How fascinating. To think that they might start to become a single bright star in an otherwise boring, monotonous existence spent holed up in a single apartment - however luxurious - made Vince fidget, nervously. He didn't want to become reliant on this tiny spark of intrigue, but neither did he want to share it with anyone, even Cassian.

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S.D.,

I ask for no such generosity as forgiveness.

It's all tied to the misconception that power comes from blood purity, actually. Ridiculous, given that Merlin himself was never proven to be pure of any kind of blood. It is however, as you say, an emotionless tale. Overplayed, and greatly oversaturated with importance.

I find your keen take on darkness flattering and elegant. I suppose as a result you've proven your point, weaving the right words in the right order to conjure images of both beauty and threat. It's not a talent many can boast and for that, I applaud you.

(Too, I must agree that like thorns - women are dangerous creatures. More so than the stupidity of men often allows.)

As for your words... I sense a companionable loss of self in them, if I'm not so mistaken. It takes one broken soul to uncover the truth behind another, in the end. However, my question to you, S.D., is this:

Do your wanderings lead you away from yourself or from a life you've been prescribed to accept?

The beauty in nothing you seem determined to reconcile means very little to one afflicted by the 'abyss of obsession.' But that's always been my tragic flaw.

Color me curious,
V.I.

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