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I selfishly begin with a series of apologies. One for the possibility that you might not remember me at all. Another for a lost, long-ago life that we once both occupied as children. And last, I apologize if my wish to speak to you again rouses nothing nostalgic, but instead echoes of an early trauma. This latter is far from my wish, but that hope may be flawed from the onset given the selfish introduction. I hope that whatever life has done with and to you since we were parted many years ago, that at least now, in your present, you know something of happiness.
As noted on the envelope, I reintroduce myself in our adult lives - I'm
Velia Ianthe LaFey. Perhaps you remember something of a silly hybrid-fae girl playing at being a gargoyle under
Ruwen Aramis Meng's care at the Temple of Aicratheon. My twin sister,
Flora, she took on more of the gargoyle traits from our father, perhaps you remember her there, too.
We'd been friends once, in that past life. That part of me that's still under ten years old in my memories still looks for the boy who had become her first genuine friend outside of her sister and father.
It has been many years, and I would not fault you for discarding this letter to put away the past and whatever varied trappings it unearths for you. You may also wonder how I'd managed to contact you again - I'd wonder the same if our places were reversed.
Incidentally, I'd been in Sayby Falls recently for a work project. My rental car broke down and I was directed to the nearest mechanic shop. It would have all been perfectly mundane if not for a closing comment from the man that'd done the repairs. A Stephen Moore. He'd made a proud comment about his son, naming an Alois. I know there could be any number of Aloises in the world, but nonetheless I was caught off guard and blurted a question - and ultimately, he confirmed, yes, his Alois had once lived at the Temple of Aicratheon. I opened candidly to him that we'd been childhood friends.
I went on to ask if he thought it'd be alright if I received your contact information - he said you'd gone on to Black City, and he happily provided this address. If he'd seemed hesitant, I would have quickly apologized and dismissed the notion. Instead, we had some conversation about the earlier years you and I shared.
As noted before, we were so young. Still, I hoped I shared something living and real to him. Of course, a nostalgic lens into childhood can be a bit of a kaleidoscope. Still, I told him how I'd jump out to startle you into stone sometimes, and you'd make fun of my wings in a way that ironically made me feel valued for my differences from pureblood gargoyles. I didn't think about it that deep as a child, but I felt it. A series of what had previously felt like brief, reflective footnotes during my adult years pieced together into a larger patchwork of fond things between your adoptive father and myself that afternoon.
Calling what I remembered "footnotes" detracts from the influence I'd felt from those younger years with you. In childhood's rudimentary ways, I learned about real friendship and positive nuances about when to trust. Paired with those uplifting elements, the fallout around the temple training also influenced my later thinking. I also confess that I'd had shades of jealousy and feeling left behind when they'd tapped you to step on a path I couldn't have ever joined myself, given what I am. I was proud of what they saw in you, I just didn't want to lose my favorite friend outside of my twin sister.
I only admit these things to you now for a purpose that I'm getting to. If you will, please do bear with me still, if you've come this far.
Trust me, I've felt guilt for those aforementioned feelings after you were cast out and suddenly completely gone. I'd wondered: had my dark feelings tainted the blessing you'd been granted? Could I have stood up for you and somehow stopped the outcome? I think the genuine answer to that young guilt is, to both, "No."
Still, all of the pieces I've thus far described came together to influence elements in my art. Professionally, I'm a painter these days. I told you - without any true merit, as is the fantasy in childhood - that fairy dust would make me famous one day. I'd just been angry at one of the other kids about their hybrid teasing. Jokes on them - and me - it genuinely did, to a degree at any rate. I found a way to incorporate it into my paints to add other sensory and emotional experiences for viewers.
Anyway, the things we experienced together, as friends, as children around the temple, our separation back then - shades of these have often found their way into my works. Remembering the boy who'd been my friend where others were cautious warmed within the sunlight held high and safe from terrestrial troubles within my paint. Dab by stroke across the years, something of you hid in the comfort of cool shadows, or chased through streaks of light well out of reach of a judgmental world. In my way, I hoped to will something healing, uplifting, into existence for that long-ago friend who fell and vanished. In various ways, shades of you were a muse to me.
We're different people now, I won't pretend to know who you are at present, and while I've written you this lengthy letter, you do not now know me either. I could have left out so much of this and simply offered a greeting from the past - kept it surface and superficial. But that felt unfair. When I apologize for the previously unspoken shadows within me that failed you back then, even if ultimately inconsequential in the greater scheme of what either of us could ever influence, you at least might possess the genuine and heartfelt nature of it.
You might also understand that I wholeheartedly mean it when I say that I hope, pray even, that whoever you are now, that you really do know something of happiness.
There's a museum in Sayby Falls curated by a professional friend, an
Ariam Nguyen. He hosts a small collection of my work. Should you return, I imagine to visit your family, I'll ensure you'll always have free access. I'll contact him and by whatever means, be it a membership or a tab, I'm determined for you to always be able to visit without cost. I feel it's something small to offer a muse - a long-ago friend who inspired some of the better parts of my maturation. No one else knows, I've admitted now to no one but you - patrons have admired some of your colors in my pieces for all of this time.
On a concluding selfish note, I hope that you'll tease me for the nature of my wings again one day.
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