Edmund's Letter

Dear Edmund,

If you're reading this, than I'm--I don't know. I'm not sure what instructions I'm going to put on it being given to you, yet.

I'm not able to give it to you in person, I suppose. I know that.

Do you know the last time I wrote an actual letter? By hand? Not for...years, at least. Consider yourself special.

That was maybe mean. Sorry.

Anyway, I'm--I don't know how much sense this will make. I'm sorry if it doesn't.

I didn't tell you a lot. When I moved out, and I think...I think part of it was because I was hoping to come back. I was hoping I could make it work. And when I couldn't, and I had to give you the ring back--it hurt. Because I didn't really want it to work that way.

I never should have loved you. And I knew it. And I never once cared, and you should know that. Because I really did love you. I loved how you'd kiss me and I loved how you mocked my coffee and I loved how you sometimes touched me like I was--I don't know. Like I was precious and you didn't want to break me, maybe. It felt like that, anyway. And it was nice.

It's not really past tense, you know. I didn't stop loving you when I left. I just couldn't--I couldn't. I was hurt, and it was all going to hell, and all I wanted was for you to kiss me and instead you got angry, and if that's mean, I'm sorry, but--

It will happen again, is the thing. Something will. And I know it. That's how my world works and always has. There's no peace in it. Or, okay, there's peace. But not for me. I made a choice to give it up when I was 13, because I could do something more, and that's okay. But I couldn't promise you it would be perfect. And I'm not...good at feeling trapped, and I felt that way, when you got angry. And that wasn't something I could deal with.

I didn't want to get married. But I wanted to marry you, because that's how it works for you. I did want to give you that. I couldn't give you kids, and I...wouldn't have, anyway, and we both knew it, but I could give you that. That and a cat.

Great relationship.

And the thing is--like there's just one, right? Like it's always just one moment. But you left. Meg had just died, and you'd promised you wouldn't, and the Lion told you to and you did.

I didn't forgive you for that. You never actually said you were sorry for going, though, so I guess that's fair enough. But I didn't forgive you. I've met Him. And I like him. I do. I feel the same things you do when he breathes on me.

But he also terrifies me. And the way you'd just obey without question--I can't do that. Not even with your Lion--and he was yours, not mine. Not with any of the gods. I've spat in too many gods' faces. And I still don't understand how you could. I never will.

I guess I'm probably dead or--well, there are a lot of other options which aren't nice. But if I'm dead and not in the bar and you're reading this, I probably shouldn't be so--I don't know. Inclined to rant. But that's not what I mean to do. I just want to explain. And...maybe I want to, a little. I didn't before. Isn't that what you do when you break up?

So I got to do that, and it's not really fair you don't get to back, but you know damned well I was never good at being fair.

And here's the other bit:

I love you.

Not past tense. And not that I'll ever come back, and not that there is a you and me anymore.

But I still love you. I will always love you. I'm a liar, and I'm a thief, and I'm a killer, and I've no remorse over any of that, but I was always honest when I said I loved you. I wore that ring--I don't wear rings, Edmund. I use my hands too much to do so. But I wore that ring from the day you gave it to me, and I was always, always proud to wear it. And taking it off was hard.

And I think I need you to know that.

That, and that I'm sorry. Not that I left. And not for anything I've ever said.

But I'm sorry that it didn't work. I think I would have liked it to.

I'm writing this looking at the lake outside the mansion, and it's a beautiful day, and I'm almost hoping you never get this, because of why you will. Because odds are good that means there's no way I can ever talk to you about it, and part of me is grateful I won't be able to, selfishly, and part of me...part of me wishes I could. And knows I won't, not any time soon, not on my own.

But I'm looking at the lake. And it's a beautiful day, and I'm going inside to kiss Piotr after I finish, and then I'm going to have a cup of tea as I work on a computer program.

And the beverage is entirely your fault.

Eve Lo With wishes that you're happy, and hoping it's true,
Kath Kitty