"Zelds... I've always asked you to stop killing me... but I've never asked why. So... why? Why do you do it?"
Zelda remained silent, unconvincingly stone-faced, as Hilda lowered the letter, its orange and cream notepaper still fresh after nearly a century.
Hilda blinked the gathering sheen away from her eyes. “That’s the last one. It’s... strange that I never threw them away, innit? Not like I haven’t figured out, you know, a lot of the answers myself, I just, well, before I leave I thought maybe you should know.”
Zelda’s voice was no rougher than usual, at least to the untrained ear, but Hilda’s were far from untrained. “You never sent me a single one. Why, sister? You knew where I was every step of the way.”
Hilda tilted her head, gave Zelda an affectionate look grown out of her own private pain. “I didn’t really, though, did I? Anyway...” She shut the tin box, fastened the flimsy clasp, and stood. “You can do what you want with them, really. And the poppets. I just don’t want to take things like that with me now. Moving in with Richard, I... I just want to start fresh. I don’t want to be afraid of saying or doing the wrong thing anymore. And I don’t want to accidentally react to something he says--”
“As if he were me,” came the thin croak, quickly subsumed by a drag on her cigarette.
Hilda’s answer was quiet, but resolute. “Yes. Zelda, I, I really love him.” A smile of guileless glee was there suddenly, and a light in her eyes. “I want to be able to love someone without fearing them. You understand. I know you do.”
Eyes averted, Zelda only nodded.
“I’m sorry, Zelds. I hope you’ll find it again, I really do. But I’m... I’m not going to risk missing this chance. I don’t know how long we have together, but I’m going to enjoy it as much as I can.”
Zelda cleared her throat then, a guttural sound full of regret. “I hope that you do, Hilda. I pray to Hecate and our ancestors that you do. And I hope that... the things I’ve done...” the quiver in her lip quickly vanished into the cigarette, and within moments she had recovered, “that they don’t hold you back. I hope you know that I, I’ve always...”
Hilda leaned down and patted her sister’s knee, where it sat tightly crossed, just like her spirit clearly was. “I know, Zelds. But... it doesn’t really change anything. Does it?”
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𝘓𝘦𝘢𝘷𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘧𝘪𝘳𝘴𝘵 𝘴𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘦𝘯𝘤𝘦 𝘰𝘧 𝘢 𝘧𝘪𝘤 𝘪𝘯 𝘮𝘺 𝘢𝘴𝘬 𝘣𝘰𝘹 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘐 𝘸𝘪𝘭𝘭 𝘸𝘳𝘪𝘵𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘯𝘦𝘹𝘵 𝘧𝘪𝘷𝘦
(or whatever happens apparently...)
titsay
snowghoul
germansingergirl
origamiaround
gummygunk
theartofmadeline
janainaart
