> Terezi: Write to your pen pal.
You’ve kept in contact with Kanaya for a very long time. You wouldn’t hesistate to say she’s your best friend, part of a pinky-swear coven formed when the two of you had barely formed pinkies to swear with. You lived together, once, but the collective of tech-resistant hippies in the forest became too unbearable a miasma for you to deal with. Too much fear, too much resistance to simple things. Your iconic LED shades would probably get you killed, if you went back.
Kanaya was happy there, though. You left, she stayed. You promised to keep in touch through letters, hoping not to provoke the ire of your former community. Carnelian’s translucent pink little claws wrap around your rolled parchment -- you burn the edges a little and dye the paper with coffee so it looks like ancient scroll -- and with the promise of treats when she comes back, your lusus slips out the open window and flutters down into the forest on iridescent wings.
You go around the hive, gather up bits and bobs from here and there, not having to use your scanner to locate certain things. Your fingers recognize the subtly different shapes of your tumbled gems, all sorts of quartz you’ve found on the mountain, river rocks you liked the texture of, a large hagstone. You run your thumb along the hole in the latter, just admiring the texture. Of the objects you’re most happy with, your hagstone and black mirror are among your favorites, but you rarely use them as intended. Even candlelight feels too bright, at times; you feel your senses are best utilized without your eyes.
You’re coding a hex when Carnelian returns to you, the herbs and bones all bagged up and ready to go, just waiting for the nanobots to be programmed before you can tie it off and store it. You hear a soft whistle and a steady thrum of wings, and you stand to hold your hands out for the letter. You notice... a smoky smell, though you had extinguished your candles hours ago. A scroll drops into your hands, and you toss your glasses onto your bed, slipping your blindfold off. This is one of the only things you’ll use your eyes for. You tried scanning Kanaya’s first letter to you, but it felt hollow when read out in your scanner’s tinny, matter-of-fact voice.
You have to squint to adjust to the light, but you’re immediately put off when you really feel the texture in your hands. The paper is brown and stained, and when you unroll the parchment, it’s penned in sloppy maroon ink.
It’s more burnt than it was when you gave it to your lusus.
With more urgency than anxiety, you put your blindfold and glasses back on, pulling on your riding jacket and strapping your walking stick to your back. You know she’s alive, she can’t be dead, but... you have a bad feeling about this.
