Dear Pearl,
I'm quite certain Agate is not supposed to put her hands (or mouth) on me. She was even thinking of that as she did it, remembering the training she received and proper conduct with inmates.
I suppose if I wanted to report her, I could tell Yellow Diamond, but I'm not sure she would believe me.
I had a vision and went to her. It's odd because, as if through a dream-like transition, I'm at once in the facility, and in an instant, wake up beneath her hand.
Most recently, my vision detailed many gems. This has happened before, where those I've only brushed against come to haunt me. They flash by so quickly, but I see what they've done, next to what I've done, and I come away feeling dirty.
My guilt congeals with theirs, but I've allowed them to get away with some of their crimes for the sake of sending you letters.
When I awoke, I had embraced My Diamond's index finger, smearing it with blood. It appeared so off—my dark pink against her bright yellow. It tied a knot in my stomach.
I called her name in a gasp, and drew her eyes. "My apologies," I said. "I've dirtied your glove."
"Why do you think I wear them?"
I couldn't see, but I hope she smirked when she said that. I hope it was a little joke between us. At that moment, I could have confessed everything, but the courage escaped me. Telling her of Agate and your letters and the filthy things I'd like to do to Jasper would mean no longer speaking to her, or you, or even Yellow Diamond. Perhaps for even saying such a thing, she would have ground me to powder. I felt her irritation at having my blood on her. She had just cleaned her gloves.
That's why I fear telling her. She would be irritated to have to deal with such an issue. It's not guaranteed she would believe me anyway. Given my history, any reasonable gem might assume it was my fault, for tempting her, and perhaps our notepassing would come to light. Yellow would be sure to ask Agate her side of the story.
But it's not only that. That awful part of me is considering using her. Perhaps there are pieces of information that could come in handy one day, for something or other, if an affair were even possible.
Perhaps it is.
I encountered Agate as I returned to my cell. Her eyes followed, I noticed, affixed to me.
She watches from the sidelines in the yard. When I was speaking to Jasper yesterday, I saw her, white in the shadows as we stood in the light.
Yet another front to feel terrible. I can hardly recall what it was that Jasper was saying. Her colors distract me. Sometimes a lock of hair comes loose to rest upon her cheek, and my retention drops further, but that day—it was so hot that day, I was divided amongst her crimson and her hair, and Agate.
I kept glancing to her, at one point even prompting Jasper to notice. Unassuming, she looked for a moment, but made nothing of it. We continued speaking.
Oh, Pearl. I feel awful from so many directions.
—Morganite
