These are a series of letters I wrote one night. They are all shippy, but how you pair them is up to you. These are for Harriet, who saw the original letter I wrote for The Choice, and encouraged me to write more. So here they are. Tell me, as always, what you think. Istalidar
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I never thought of us as lucky – right from the beginning, we were doomed. You were who you were, and I … I was never in the right place at the right time. And you knew what you had to do, and you couldn't risk me, couldn't risk my heartache.
This war smashed everything. All our families, all our friends, torn apart before they had a chance to understand how happy we all truly were. Even the fights in the hallways, do you remember? It was a sign of how happy we were, that we could get mad over losing points. These days, we wouldn't have time to get mad over that, we're too busy worrying about the next crisis.
We're nothing unique, you and I, just another set of young people in love who are smashed together like surf on the rocks and then torn apart with the retreating tide. It's happened to everyone, my siblings, my friends…at night, when I miss you too much to cry about us, I cry about them. About how they could have been so perfect, about how there could have been such adorable children running around, with so-and-so's eyes and so-and-so's mouth. I want you back here with me, have done since the time when you finally admitted that maybe we could be together.
We were happy.
I take comfort in that, and in the idea that maybe, at some time, this war will be over, and we'll be together, and you'll love me and I'll love you and all my friends will crash together like the sea on the rocks but they'll hold on, and cling together like shipwreck survivors, and maybe, just maybe, we'll rebuild our world.
I have faith in you, and in us.
Ginny.