For some reason, it won't let me bold this; every time I try to save it bold, it just goes back to plain text. I'm sorry. I'm not sure where I'm going with this story anymore. I was FeeSimon all the way, but then I started reading A Great and Terrible Beauty again, and I feel really sorry for Ithal. He's so cute! And it would be sort of funny to have Simon end up alone while Gemma went off with Kartik and Fee went off with Ithal. I'm still leaning towards FeeSimon of course, but maybe maybe maybe. Je ne sais pas. Ich weiss nicht. What do you think?

My Dearest Fee,
When I say I don't love you, I lie. You must know that I do. I have loved you since we were children. You have bewitched me, Felicity. Everyday, I wish it was you I was promised to. I wish it was you that I promised to spend forever with. It sounds stupid and sentimental, but it's true. I love you, my darling Fee. You are so beautiful. You are so --

Dear Felicity,
I don't love Miss Doyle. I can't. It's you I love, Felicity. It's always been you. I will do whatever I must to break off our engagement. It will be a scandal, I know. But I will do whatever I have to. If you will still have me, Fee --

Dear Fee,
Do you remember when we were children, and we stole that liquor from the kitchens? You wouldn't drink it Fee; do you remember? You were so innocent and beautiful and perfect, even then. You make me better, Fee. I can't live without you. I can't be with --

Dear Felicity,
I love you. I'm sorry that I've hurt you. Once you forgive me, I will never hurt you again. I can't bear seeing you cry, Fee. Especially when it's my own doing, and I can't make it better. Tell me what I must do. Make me do anything. I'm your servant forever. I'm yours. I don't know --

Simon Middleton banged his fist into the writing desk. "Dammit, Fee," he muttered to the empty room. He crumpled his last attempt in one fist, and tossed it into the fire across the room. He'd always been good at sports: cricket, tennis, that sort of thing. If only he was as good at writing letters. He stared at the blank paper in front of him, pen in the corner of his mouth. He would allow himself one more try, and then he'd give it up, give her up. He wouldn't think of her again. His pen touched the paper, and his eyes felt...sort of wet.

Dear Miss Worthington,
I am sorry. For everything. We need to talk.
Yours,
Simon Middleton

Review, and I will love you forever. Only not in a creepy way. lol.