[P] I give you my love before preaching or law;

[Marisol]

deep calleth unto deep

Marisol has been writing a lot of letters. Or at least more than normal.

She has too many words in her head, too many books that were read and not processed, too many feelings, and now they’re fighting to get out, when she’s still, when she’s moving, all the time. She wants to write. She has to write. It will burn a hole through the inside of her if she doesn’t.

She has been thinking about Asterion, too, more than normal. His dark eyes. How he can’t not love. It reminds her of herself, or how she could be, maybe. But everything looks like him. It might be how the smell of saltwater follows her now, or how when the stars play on Terrastellan cobblestone, they almost make the purple of his skin (and she’s been under the stars a lot more than the sun, recently.) They haven’t seen each other since the meeting Marisol came crashing in on, and the knowledge of that is a bitter tonic against her dry tongue. There have been no apologies, no explanations. She had dragged herself to the hospital burning with fury and came out of it drowned in sorrow, and nowhere in-between had she bothered to speak to him, or Theodosia. Or her cadets, except to tell them it was business as usual. 

They all deserved a little better reception, even from a kelpie. Even from Marisol, whose teeth would not hesitate to eat her own heart. But Asterion… Asterion especially.

She loves him, he must know that. She can’t say it, and he must know that, too.

---

Asterion,

If I were capable of saying sorry I would say so now, but you know that I’m not, so:

I have much to tell you and I’m sure you have a lot to tell me, in reference to the interrupted meeting or anything else. I figured I would give you a warning beforehand. None of it (on my end) is near to good news. The hospital may have fixed my fever but it did not do much for my countenance. If you see something hair-raising on the streets, fear not, for it is either me or something I am near to killing. 

My heart has a mouth which says: I regret, though I hate to admit it, that I did not come to you sooner, and worse than that, that I have not been kind. You must know I am stubborn as much as I am your sister and these are two circles that overlap perfectly. I would rather kill for you than kill you, which I cannot say for many others.

There is a significant uproar in the Halcyon this weeksand I cannot justify leaving the barracks until everyone is calm. If you have time, please come by. You know we’re civilized. Cirrus is welcome too, though she might find it claustrophobic.

In lieu of a signature, or anything too sickeningly tender, have this, and don’t you dare hold it against me:

If we want the rewards of being loved we must submit to the mortifying ordeal of being known.

I submit.

---

<3

aimless | kokovi