V sat at the computer, the sound of the keys clicking in the silence, broad shoulders hunched over as he stared intently into the glow of the monitor. One key code to get around, and then Fate would be his to command. But the last was always the hardest. The girl certainly wanted a lot from him to ensure that their relationship would remain in tact in the coming years – this was hardly a one-night stand. V smiled beneath the visage. They both wouldn't have it any other way. Several key strokes later, and still nothing; she was stubborn, a trait they shared. V sat back in the chair to close his eyes briefly and stretch his tired muscles before he decided to take a break from woo'ing Fate as he got to his feet.
He stepped softly into the Rose Room where several tubs were filled with brilliant blossoms that nearly overflowed the sides while others, still, were soiled over or barely pushing out of the dirt. They were all watered with loving care and he made sure the overhead light burned on them for a period, a substitute for the sun. He loved them dearly, sewing the seeds that would be reaped later on.
Leaving that scented bower, V strode down a hall, seemingly pulled towards the soft warmth of a light issuing forth from a nearby room. Candles lit the interior, casting a tender glow over the cut roses placed strategically upon the mantelpiece and floor, some resting between tall, white candles. Bulbs highlighted the most important pieces in the room, lighting them up as if on display in a museum – several large movie posters and a single, rolled up tube that lay on the mahogany dresser in the center. Dark eyes gazed upward as if regarding an angel upon her holy seat in Heaven. She always stared out, with blank eyes, at nothing – frozen in time and space – the movie poster of The Saltflatts. He allowed the peace to wash over him from this silent conversation they had that spanned through memory and death itself, through years of hate, neglect, and pain.
His gaze lowered to rest on the one thing that had saved his life. He rarely touched it, wanting to keep it in good condition from the near twenty years of age, not to mention the abuse it endured in the making. But this time, he felt he was granted the privilege and reached out with trembling fingers. The rolled up letter was plucked from the well-polished surface as if it were the stem of a flower freshly picked from the memories of a once lavished garden left to rot. But as he knew, in the right hands, even the worst bereavement can be smoothed away.
He peeled it open, the sound of the yellowed pages crackling with age. Her tiny scrawl filled every corner of the five pages, several words and lines smudged away or faded into obscurity, but it didn't matter. The letter was memorized, tucking its beautiful and life-saving contents into a piece of his mind that would never forget the way it felt to have read it for the first time. He couldn't bring himself to read it again, it would hurt too much – even after almost twenty years, mere words could cripple a man to his knees. "My name is Valerie …" As his eyes caressed over the words, a smile came to his lips, so easy and natural. Slowly and with deft care, he turned to the last page and her closing statement: "… I love you. With all my heart, I love you …" He swallowed hard, feeling the emotions come so fast and vicious even after those few words. There have been more than a few days that he silently pleaded for another letter, but they both knew that all he needed, and all he would ever need was the one he held in his hands. What blackness kept him alive but took her, he didn't know. But he knew that he lived for one reason alone …
Returning the pages back to their correct order, he meticulously rolled them back into a tube and set it back in its place upon the mantle. He kept the candles lit and dutifully exchanged the dying and dried up roses for the pristine ones that waited in the tubs down the hall. "Ave atque vale," he said reverently to the poster hung upon the back wall before he slowly turned and left her place of memorial in its sanctified silence.