13 Mars, 1890
Monsieur Tchaikovsky,
'Allo. I have just returned from seeing your wonderful ballet. I must say, I found it amusing that it turned out to be such a flop. A pity you did not find a prima ballerina with the grace and ability of Odette, non? Do you remember her, Monsieur Tchaikovsky? Do you remember my beautiful sister?
I remember, that summer when you came and watched us. We were thirteen, my sister and I, and just becoming women, in that awkward stage between girl and woman. You turned that awkward beauty of ours into something amazing, I must admit, when you turned us into swans. Yes, you even kept our names; Odette for the beautiful queen, and Odile for her evil sister, betrayer of her heart. Oddly, you were correct.
What you did not see, yet what you did, was something created over a lifetime. True, we were twins, my sister and I, but she was different, more pure, more kind. You could see it in her face. The only difference between us, on the outside that is, was our eyelashes. You saw them; hers were the palest blonde, graceful feathers; mine, harsh and confining in their darkness. Yet Siegfried could not see them, eh Monsieur? He could not tell the difference when I stood before him, my elegant black lashes framing our soft blue eyes. He was such a fool. I am glad to say that we no longer associate with one another.
So how is life treating you now, Monsieur? I remember you regaling us with your tales of Rusie; Mother Russia, you called it. Odette wanted to visit, with all her heart. She loved your tales of the floating snow and the sleds, pulled by reindeer with harnesses with bells. She saw only beauty in this land of yours, yet I saw only harshness. In her eyes, the snow was crystalline, in mine, it was cold and cruel. Her merry sleds disappeared when my starving villagers came to mind. I know of Russia; I know what my sister did not. So who is, or should I say was, correct, Monsieur Tchaikovsky? Myself, or naïve Odette?
Au revoir, Monsieur. I shall write to you again, I think. This endeavor has been quite amusing, and I need something to amuse myself these days. See I, unlike you, Monsieur, have been relegated to the realm of fantasy, to the realm of fairy tale. The wondrous tale that you wove has sent me and my sister, as well as that heinous husband of hers, to the realm of never ending life.
Until next time Monsieur,
Odile
5 Mai, 1890
Monsieur,
It was so good of you to write back. I shall do as you say and burn your letters. Has life become so hard for you, Monsieur that even your correspondence has become subject to investigation? But no matter, the letters will be burned. I care not what you do with mine; I keep my own copies here, with me. A souvenir, I suppose.
Odette is doing fine; she rules her fairytale kingdom with her oafish king. I never did like Siegfried, though I hated Von Rothbart even more. So why did I work with him, you ask? Because he said he would let me take what I wanted. A silly trick; one that everyone knows of and yet everyone falls for, especially when the object of one's desire is so close, yet just out of reach. I shall let you try and guess what my object was; I may even tell you one day.
I left Odette and Siegfried for Paris not long ago. I returned to my country, so full of life from when I left it. The titter of the salons is still on the revolution, twenty years before. The fear behind the women's eyes makes me want to laugh. And why should I not, eh Monsieur? They brought it upon themselves. Do not chide me; I know that there are many things that could have caused the Revolution. You were around here then, eh Monsieur? I was away, hiding in my sister's kingdom.
Yes, I hide from her. I remained in Von Rothbart's castle; Odette refuses to go there. I read his books and practiced sorcery. When I became particularly skillful with a spell, I felt a sense of approval, of vindictive approval. I am sure his ghost was watching me, and I am sure it is waiting for me to return. Not to punish me, but to punish Odette and Siegfried. Ah! I have forgotten; they now have a daughter. She is a beautiful child and looks nothing like her father. She is a faery, with a petite stature and an ethereal giggle. She will be a beauty, perhaps even more so than her mother.
Ah, Odette. She sits on her throne, the very image of a queen. You had her dressed in feathers and, when the moon was full, in the finest of white silks and chiffons. Now she wears fine velvet as well as silk and chiffon. Lace accents the end of her sleeves, drawing notice to her thin and elegant fingers, to her perfectly shaped nails. Her skin is still a pale rose, and her cheeks still light up when she is happy, and they turn the same shade of pinkish rose when she blushes. She has lost nothing of her beautiful figure; one of the benefits of living in the realm of the fairytale, non? Yet her dresses emphasize her beauty even more than your tales could, with their low cut bodices and gracefully clinging skirts. She is a sight to behold.
I digress, Monsieur. How are things in Russia, the land of snow? Tomorrow I go to see the Sleeping Beauty. What other family did you send to the realm of the fairytale with that ballet?
Odile
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A/N: Swan Lake actually stopped being performed in 1883, from what I understand. But we're going to ignore that for the sake of the letters. Odette and Odile are twin sisters in the ballet "Swan Lake"; Odette is the happy one who Prince Siegfried falls in love with, and Odile is the one used by the villan, Von Rothbart, to try and stop the two from being together. It's a really good ballet, so go see it if you can sometime.