Send 📃 for a goodbye letter from my muse to yours.
It’s not like he never thought he would last this war. It’s war, he’s somewhat confident in his abilities, in the ways his left hand holds Minerva’s reins and his right hand holds an axe. But it’s war, unpredictable, war against living people instead of simply Risen, war against smart people, those who weren’t born simply to kill, to slice. Since the very beginning, the rider held no wishes to partake in this war, war that did not belong to him. He had agreed ( nearly forcefully so ) to go back to the past, but agreed only to stay in the Wyvern Valley, to release Minerva there, to allow her the happiness he never would in the future.
He didn’t think he would partake in this war.
Didn’t think he would die there.
But Gerome is a pessimist; it’s not that he knew he would die, not that he held no will to live. He did, even though this era isn’t his. He would rather live to see another day than die by the hand of his enemies. But he had prepared himself to the worst, as he always had. Had told Minerva that if he were to fall in battle, for her to flee, to fly away, to go back to the Valley where she belonged, where she would find happiness.
Told her, too, as a last wish, to deliver a letter to Inigo. Not to his mother, not to his father ( both that weren’t his, both that would still -- hopefully -- live to see another day, both that would live to give birth to their Gerome, safe and sound ), not to Laurent -- his best friend -- but to Inigo.
Inigo who always invaded his personal space. Inigo who always dragged him out of his comfort zone. Inigo who always forced him to go “hit on girls”, but Inigo who always cried and got frustrated because his plans never went the way he planned. Inigo who always bore a smile on his face, despite the hardships he went through, the people he saw dying, the self sacrifice he once nearly attempted. Inigo who couldn’t be able to sleep for days after killing his first living person, who cried over the feeling of taking a life away. Inigo who danced in secrecy under the moon, reflected by the pure waters of a lake, who captivated anyone whose eyes dared to catch sight of his perfect form, perfect movements. Inigo who was much more beautiful than he could himself see, not only in appearance but in his personality, in who he was. Inigo who Gerome learned to love with all of his heart.
It was not a happy letter.
If this reaches your hands, I am sorry.
This letter may exist, but I never wished for it to end up in your hands, let alone have you read it. It’s not something I want to subject you to, but now that I am likely dead, there are things I want to let you know.
You may be wondering why you of all people. Why does this letter exist at all. “This isn’t like Gerome”, I know. “If there’s something he wanted to say, he would say it in my face, not in a letter”, you’re right. This isn’t like me at all, but there are things better left unsaid, things that I always thought I would take to my grave than have anyone know. This is one of them, and I chose to deliver it to you because there are things I have never told you. If history goes as it was supposed to, Cherche is still going to have a kid, her own son. There is no need for me to deliver her a good bye letter. I have always told Laurent everything I had to say, and even things I did not have to voice. He has always been best at reading me than others.
But there are things I have to tell you, things I thought I would take to my grave.
This make come in late, and you might see it as pointless -- as I do as well -- but I love you. I do not own your talent to say pretty words, nor am I a dedicated writer, a poet of any kind, but that’s all I have to say. It might come as a surprise, as seen by the many times you have inquired if I hated you. I have always thought my feelings were the most obvious, but you have never been able to see past my words and understand me by the actions I take. Agreeing to come back to the past because I did not, would never allow myself to be responsible for you in the future -- what would be of myself if you were to die, to slip from my hands and make me witness the death of yet another loved one? What would be of myself if I were to lose the last person I cared so strongly for, to be left all by myself in a nightmare of a world? I couldn’t allow such thing to happen.
I may not be the most suited to express feelings of love, but I have never been able to hate you. These are feelings I barely understand, but feelings that have been with me for a long time. I know they are hopeless, as you only seek the interest and attention of women, but I would never allow myself to die and let you live in doubt of how I felt towards you. All the times you have talked to me, all the times your attention was all on me, all the times Minerva and I watched you dance under the moonlight -- those are memories I clung onto for years, memories that even in my final moments I am sure I am going -- or rather, did -- to think about, to relive.
I am sorry, Inigo, for only telling you these hidden feelings of mine when you will no longer be able to look at me. I’m sure right now you probably feel like yelling at me, calling me a fool and a coward. Perhaps I am both, and more. But those are feelings I was never supposed to bear for you. You simply stole my heart in a way that I was never able to comprehend, but found myself adoring and hating both the way you messed with my mind, the way you drove me crazy simply by smiling at me.
My only wish is for you to live on. Survive this war, and make your dream come true. Bring smiles to those who have forgotten happiness, or those unknown of it. You, more than anyone, is perfectly suitable for it. Become the dancer you want to be, and make those around you happier than they have ever been. And when the war is over, when the Gerome and Inigo of this world are born, I heartily hope the me of this world will, too, learn to love the you of this world. Because just as you gave me the best feelings I have ever felt, I hope he will, too, be able to witness them.
