[ a few days of their own; a letter tucked where he'll find it later. he hasn't troubled to seal it at all. ]
Ilias,
Of course I want you. That’s the problem of it.
Much as I esteem your discretion, you offer it from the advantage. It's been easier for us both to pretend otherwise. There is a comfort in familiarity, true, as there is little simpler than the weaving of two to one: The blur between a reflection and its image. Skin repeats and we may think ourselves single in nature; seen.
I have made a habit of ignoring the glass.
I don’t have a grandmother, Ilias. No one is watching to see me well — and what you've seen was not all freely shared. I never wanted to give you a monster, but how still you took it in your hands. Familiar. I'd be a liar to claim it didn't trouble me.
You’ve addressed your letter to Isaac, by which you mean me. Montsimmard seldom agreed about that: I was taught to write Isik and Ysaac and Izak. I must have been a dozen such men before a man at all. I don’t have a grandmother, Ilias; I hardly have a name. If you want more of me, care for what you would leave me with. Affection is pleasant. It isn’t enough.
I know that you worry after your tongue, imagine it dusty, but you’ve always done well by me. Isaac. It’s the same in Orlais as Nevarra. It’s not how my mother said it.
no subject
Ilias,
Of course I want you. That’s the problem of it.
Much as I esteem your discretion, you offer it from the advantage. It's been easier for us both to pretend otherwise. There is a comfort in familiarity, true, as there is little simpler than the weaving of two to one: The blur between a reflection and its image. Skin repeats and we may think ourselves single in nature; seen.
I have made a habit of ignoring the glass.
I don’t have a grandmother, Ilias. No one is watching to see me well — and what you've seen was not all freely shared. I never wanted to give you a monster, but how still you took it in your hands. Familiar. I'd be a liar to claim it didn't trouble me.
You’ve addressed your letter to Isaac, by which you mean me. Montsimmard seldom agreed about that: I was taught to write Isik and Ysaac and Izak. I must have been a dozen such men before a man at all. I don’t have a grandmother, Ilias; I hardly have a name. If you want more of me, care for what you would leave me with. Affection is pleasant. It isn’t enough.
I know that you worry after your tongue, imagine it dusty, but you’ve always done well by me. Isaac. It’s the same in Orlais as Nevarra. It’s not how my mother said it.
[ there's no further signature ]