[ The envelope holds only his name, written in ornate, old-fashioned lettering. ]
Lestat, my love.
It seems very wrong that the first letter I write to you is this one. My love, the Creator has deigned to keep his promise. He is sending me home, he claims. I do not know what to think of it, yet, but I believe I must test it. If you are reading this, then I am gone from the city, as promised.
It is my belief, and my greatest hope, that we shall see each other again. Ignacio is certain that he can do it, that he can cross the bridge between the worlds, and find me again. This is what I want - that we might know each other on our own terms, that I might show you my world as you have shown me yours. It is to this hope that I cling.
And yet, if that is not to be - if these are the last words I am permitted to say to you - then know how much I love you, Lestat. From the moment I first saw you, I have loved you, and yearned for you. No one makes me smile so readily as you. There is so much love in you, so much passion and romance. Every time we are together, I love you all over again. You have been like the sun to me in this world. I am so happy to have met you, to have known you --
And in truth, I cannot accept that it could end here. No, I will see you again, and when I do, I will make such love to you. Until the moment I can, please take care of Ignacio for me. Remind him that he is loved. Be strong for each other, and be happy, and come to find me. Let no one tell you what to do, my brat prince. Come to me, and I shall make you a true prince, in the kingdom I am going to win.
[The letter is red in practically an instant. And just like that his face goes from a smile to a bitter glare as he crumples it up then tosses it into the air. A narrowing of his eyes and it catches fire, the ashes falling from the air as he turns away from it to go fling himself dramatically onto a chair.
Seeing that the table in his room is too close to the chair for his tastes, he kicks it away with his foot causing it to shatter against the wall beyond it.]
My Rafa. Please.
[This stings. It's a bitterness that coats his tongue and fills his veins in a way he hates. Of course Rafa would eventually leave. Of course he would.
They always leave. Always. Even ones he doesn't turn himself.]
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Correspondence, delivered 6 November by Ignacio
Lestat, my love.
It seems very wrong that the first letter I write to you is this one. My love, the Creator has deigned to keep his promise. He is sending me home, he claims. I do not know what to think of it, yet, but I believe I must test it. If you are reading this, then I am gone from the city, as promised.
It is my belief, and my greatest hope, that we shall see each other again. Ignacio is certain that he can do it, that he can cross the bridge between the worlds, and find me again. This is what I want - that we might know each other on our own terms, that I might show you my world as you have shown me yours. It is to this hope that I cling.
And yet, if that is not to be - if these are the last words I am permitted to say to you - then know how much I love you, Lestat. From the moment I first saw you, I have loved you, and yearned for you. No one makes me smile so readily as you. There is so much love in you, so much passion and romance. Every time we are together, I love you all over again. You have been like the sun to me in this world. I am so happy to have met you, to have known you --
And in truth, I cannot accept that it could end here. No, I will see you again, and when I do, I will make such love to you. Until the moment I can, please take care of Ignacio for me. Remind him that he is loved. Be strong for each other, and be happy, and come to find me. Let no one tell you what to do, my brat prince. Come to me, and I shall make you a true prince, in the kingdom I am going to win.
Until we meet again, my beautiful love.
Your Rafa.
no subject
Seeing that the table in his room is too close to the chair for his tastes, he kicks it away with his foot causing it to shatter against the wall beyond it.]
My Rafa. Please.
[This stings. It's a bitterness that coats his tongue and fills his veins in a way he hates. Of course Rafa would eventually leave. Of course he would.
They always leave. Always. Even ones he doesn't turn himself.]