-Hey guys, I know it's been a very long time but I thought I'd upload my A-Level Creative Writing piece from a couple years ago, as it is very strongly based on Tanith and Ghastly from SP (which I'm sure is obvious) Anyway, I hope you enjoy this my loves xo -

Bespoke Tailors

"Grace, I'm sorry. He's gone."

Grace stared blankly as the words echoed around her head. She hadn't tried to argue or state otherwise; she didn't even cry. She just sat quietly, her hand around the cup of coffee whilst everything else faded away. The world around her seemed to stop as hers started collapsing. Grace hadn't been back in the country for a mere 30 minutes before she was sat down, bought a coffee and told about the death of Ethan Bespoke. Ethan Bespoke wasn't a normal man. Nor were his friends, or family, or even Grace. They were sorcerers who lived among the mortals to protect them. Ethan was a prestigious member of the Council of Elders who led the sanctuary; an organisation which enforced sorcerer laws. Grace had met him on her first trip to the country, he seemed brave and bold, not afraid to stand up for what he believed in. She liked that in a man. It was obvious that the two had hit it off, everyone would say so but Grace would laugh it off. Until he asked her on a date five years later, just before they headed into battle. Grace was gone for four years after and left no trace, no goodbye. That was long before Ethan was murdered. Grace listened as the events leading up to his death were laid out for her, her jaw clenching when she realised who had betrayed him. The leader of the Council, a close friend to many including Ethan himself, now an imprisoned traitor.

Grace left the cup of coffee and grabbed her coat. The motorbike's rumbling stopped and Grace pulled off her helmet, letting her tousled blonde hair fall. She looked up at the store, Bespoke Tailor's inscribed on a creaking sign. The door held a crooked plaque that read 'Closed' and the windows were clouded with dust. The handle squeaked as she pushed open the door; Ethan rarely locked it. The bell above the door jangled. A slight breeze drifted in, parting the dust that floated in the room. Grace looked around. Nothing had moved; an empty mug of strong brewed tea on the desk, clothes draped over the mannequins, boxes and statues and shoes cluttered the floor, pencil sketches scattered the drafting table. It was exactly how she remembered it. Her eyes moved to the doorway behind the desk. She closed her eyes and imagined at that moment, a tall bald man to make an appearance, dressed in tailor made clothes that fit his boxer physique intricately. At that moment, he and Grace would melt into a hug that had been longed for. At that moment, he would tell Grace how he'd missed her. Grace opened her eyes. She was alone. If she hadn't left, if she'd been there, maybe things would've been different but Grace shook her head. Guilt, she thought, not a trait of mine.

She pottered around the tailor's for a while, her fingers delicately running over the materials. The leathers that she wore were made there; the brown tunic, pants with ribbed knees, boots with black buckles. She laid her coat on the desk and headed off into the back room. The door to Ethan's office was ajar and Grace stepped in. The light blinked on. The office was small, books and files scattered everywhere. The bookshelves were old and close to collapsing, but they held many valuable and priceless books; one of a kind, Ethan had once told her. Grace left the door and wandered to the desk. She sat where Ethan would, drawing new designs and reading books he'd probably read a thousand times. Her hands seemed to sift through the papers lying on the desk, picking up the ones that seemed significant. She stacked them neatly even though it wouldn't benefit anyone. At any other time, looking through his belongings would've felt rude, but now it seemed a necessity. Grace's eyes locked onto the two draws in the desk. She reached for the first one, it barely scraped open; but what lay inside made her eyes widen.

Envelopes titled, Grace.

She raked them out. 5, 6… 10… 15, 16… 20 envelopes. Each one filled with 5 or 6 different letters. She picked them out between finger and thumb, each letter starting 'Dear Grace…' and ending 'Yours faithfully, Ethan.' The dates were all muddled, some written days apart, others years apart. The last letter she read, she recognised as it not being one of his own. Beethoven. How clichéd, she thought, but so Ethan. She realised he'd skipped parts of the original, but she heard his voice reading the letter.

Though still in bed, my thoughts go out to you, my Immortal Beloved, now and then joyfully, then sadly, waiting to learn whether or not fate will hear us – I can live only wholly with you or not at all. No one else can ever possess my heart – never –never – Oh God, why must one be parted from one whom one so loves. Be calm, only by a calm consideration of our existence can we achieve our purpose to live together – Be calm – love me – today – yesterday – what tearful longings for you – you – you – my life – my all – farewell. Oh continue to love me – never misjudge the most faithful heart of your beloved.

Ever thine.

Ever mine.

Ever ours.

She placed the letter on the desk, her eyes glued to the page.

"Grace." Grace sprung from the chair, her head snapping upwards. In the corner of the room stood Ethan, his hands slotted in his trouser pockets, unmoving. Grace stepped out from behind the desk and took another toward him. Ethan smiled.

"You found them." He said, as Grace moved closer to him, his Irish accent still thick and deep. His eyes seemed to linger where Grace was stood behind the desk. "I was going to send them but, you had no fixed address. Plus it'd probably have been strange. I wondered when you'd return. We were always talking about you, I swore to myself that I'd find you one day and here you are." Grace stepped in front of him, but his eyes were still focussed behind the desk. She reached out to touch him. "But then we had ourselves a mini war and now look. I'm dead." Her fingers passed through his arm. "But I'm sure you already know that, I doubt you've come back and they've not told you. And here I am. Nothing more but a hologram."

"No, Ethan you're here. It's you."

"Yes, you're probably trying to tell my hologram that it's me and I'm here but I'm not, Grace. I'm just a memory, I'll soon be gone for which there'll be no return. There's so much I want to tell you, but I have little time and there isn't enough hours in the day. I'm sure those letters will partially explain things. I'm sorry it ended this way but, maybe one day we'll see each other again." Ethan's hologram smiled. "I'd like that." His head titled downwards as his eyes locked onto hers.

"Miss Low. It's been an absolute pleasure. Take care of yourself." Ethan's hand rose up to her cheek but Grace couldn't feel a thing. "Is breá liom tú."

Ethan smiled as his image faded away. Grace had never learnt Gaelic, but she smiled as though she knew what he'd said. She guessed. She knew he'd always wanted to tell her. His letters presumed so. Grace nodded, her smile still spread across her face. She folded up the letters and slid them back into their envelopes, resting them in the top drawer of the desk. From her pocket, she took out her own envelope, placing it next to the others.

An envelope titled, Ethan.