London, 1683
Mon cher Adrian,
You recognise my script in the same manner that a mother can distinguish her child’s voice among a sea of young children with her eyes closed.
And by the unfortunate circumstances of recent events, I know that you will have tried to dispose of this letter by either casting it aside or burning it.
I also know that you will have attempted various methods to rid yourself of this letter, these papers scrawled with my penmanship and the words I yearn to speak to you but cannot. Despite how you watched it burn or how far from your home you’ve left it, the envelope reappears attached to your front door, neat and pristine as if I had only just left it there for you to chance upon. I can picture your frustration, Adrian; oh, how I long to draw you close like I used to and smooth down your hair in the way that helps soothe you.
What a shame that should I choose to present myself to you once more, it would only serve to upset you.
Fret not my white knight; you will be able to destroy this once you have read it through in its entirety. I promise you that this is the only charm I have cast on these pages or on anything in your direct surrounding; possessions or otherwise.
Tell me, does it revolt you to be reminded of how fervently you wanted me? Does the memory of kissing me so ardently make your stomach lurch? I imagine it so. You are standing there by the fireplace, staring down at this letter with a conflicted expression on your face and your eyebrows knit together in that dear fashion I’ve become so partial to. You’ll cry and accuse sorcery however I’ve no use for witchcraft to see you the way you are in this moment as your eyes touch these words. I can see it perfectly in my mind, the curve of your lips and the strong set of your jaw. Your hair will be tousled like hay from how diligently you’ve been working to destroy this very letter you’re reading.
I am not calling upon any sort of magic. I know you; I am intimately familiar with your expressions, your habits, practices and routine.
You used to take pride in the knowledge of how well I was acquainted with you—how I was able to predict your reactions. Now, you will accuse me of being a horrible, vile creature, a seductress who intended to ruin you by means of sorcery.
All I had wanted was to love you for as long as my forever would allow.
It’s a cruel twist of fate, isn’t it my darling? I was hoping, desperately hoping that you loved me enough to look beyond it and put your faith in the love we shared. What vain faith; you are too dedicated to your cause and I am well aware.
That’s what drew me to you, your devotion, your passion to rid the world of evil. Following in your father’s footsteps and becoming revered among those who share your calling is seen as a tremendous, good thing. You must feel so accomplished.
You follow your mind and leave your emotions to waste away. You used to tell me that I was your heart, the better half of you that, while listening to reason, was driven by her ability to feel. I am very certain that is the furthest thing from what you think in the present, but is that what you feel?
You came upon me where I was nothing but a child, a silly little thing—hardly even a girl of fourteen, awed by your superiority, even with you only just shy of a year my senior. Infatuated with your gallantry, the blue of your eyes and the golden silk of your hair. I was thrilled when you kissed me for the first time, on the day that I turned fifteen and asked my father for my hand. I didn’t mind that our engagement was to be years long, as per his demand. I was in love. I was with you.
I stood by you, through the hunts and doomed trials. I pleaded and begged you until there had been no energy left in me. I pleaded on behalf of the younger girls, for them to be sent to monasteries to be cleansed and renewed in the glory of God in lieu of being burned alive for crimes they did not commit. There were some I could save and some I could not. I never questioned your righteousness, your ability to determine a witch from an innocent.
I know now, that to you they are one in the same.
How awful it is to love you so fiercely. The prodigious son of a witch hunter who will continue his father’s legacy, engaged to the pretty, French doll-like daughter of a nobleman.
How scandalous it is that she is a true witch.
She is not one of those innocent women and girls your father and late grandfather burned, but the honest to the Lord, truest kind of them all. A powerful woman, set aside by her blood and lineage alone. Magic lives within her; it is what she breathes.
You must know, my darling Adrian, that I was horrified when I came upon such a realization. I denied it for the longest time with the transparent hope that I was simply hallucinating the night my magic was woken from its slumber. I had revived the dried flowers and herbs my mother kept hung in our sitting room.
I wished for it to go away. How was I to become your wife with a horrible curse such as this? If I couldn’t rid myself of it, I would not use it. I would be a simple woman with an incredible husband. That had been my aspiration.
Suppressing it had been the worst mistake of my life. It was physically painful. When I fell ill all those times, when I fainted, it was not due to any sort of infection or weak constitution. My sickness was my magic, in need of exercise.
You think me wicked, but you do not understand. Magic is part of who I am, no matter how hard I have tried to rid myself of it. I cannot and will not deny my birthright any longer. Grab your torch and pitchfork if that so pleases you but I will not relent.
With power like mine, there is always a price. For me it is you; you, my love, that I must sacrifice. The greatest, truest love of my life was you and you it shall forever remain. However, I cannot allow you to target these blameless lives any longer. Your hatred of me will be further fuelled by the events yet to come.
We shall continue this game of cat and mouse, hiding and seeking until the end of either your life or mine. I love you, my dearest Adrian. But mon amour, don’t you see? I was meant to oppose you.
You were always so proud, but I know the truth.
All these years of hunting and you've never burned a single witch.
With an indefinite amount of my eternal love,
Floriane Snowe