to contain multitudes - Orestes - 01-07-2020
LADY MARISOL,
The first words we ever exchanged were over parchment, and you mentioned the sea.
It struck me and continues to strike me; there is so much we do not know of one another. I have laid awake at night wondering what the sea may have told you of me; what transgressions or heroic moments, my worst or best days. There is nothing I would rather do more than share with you these things myself and, hopefully, learn more of your own self. There is much we don’t know but there is so much beauty in that.
You do something to me I have not experienced in lifetimes; the newness of this is like experiencing spring for the first time. It frightens me. I am unaccustomed to these things, but I have meant every word I have shared with you, Marisol. I write you not as a Sovereign tonight, but as a friend and a suitor.
Call me cliche, but I have an evening planned for us. In two nights, as the sun is setting, meet with me at Amare Creek. I have an evening planned if you are available, and I would like to hear of how not only your Court is fairing, but yourself. It has been a difficult season in many ways, but better than the last. The first time we met we were both fresh monarchs—me more so than you—and by now, seasons have passed. We have entered a new state of normalcy, which has its own struggles and elations.
And Mari?
I have missed you.
—ORESTES
RE: to contain multitudes - Marisol - 01-08-2020
ORESTES,
If you call me “lady” one more time we’ll have to have a war about it. Any other title will suffice, I promise.
You are right: there is much we do not know of each other. The sea hasn’t said much, either; I don’t think she trusts me yet, which I can’t blame her for. But, to be honest, I would much rather hear it from you. The way you meant it. In your own beautiful voice, in your own chosen words. I look forward to it.
But you must know, too, that I am afraid? You must. I owe you as much honesty as you’ve given me, but my life is not as glamorous or as fascinating as yours, nor does it make me look particularly… good. For whatever truths I confess when I meet you again, and especially if those truths are ugly—will you forgive me in advance?
I’ve missed you, too. Very, very much.
Two nights it is. I’ll see you there. Anselm insists on coming to meet you, and he is too stubborn to argue with, but I promise he’ll be on his best behavior.
And this time I’ll remember to bring those blackberries I was talking about.
—MARI
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