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Chapter 14
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It is early dawn when he reaches his destination. A chilly wind nips at his partially exposed face, and Altair inhales the sharp, sea-salt air. His vision is filled with blue grey buildings of Acre. The sun never seems to shine on this grey city. The sky overcast, with gulls' lonely cries. Templars, knights in heavy chain mail, parade the streets vigilantly, and Acre's citizens walk about in grave unease.
It is easy blending in with the crowd, past the main gate, and he makes his way towards the Templar's hold. However, halfway there, Altair pauses as he feels the cold press of a blade handle against his back.
"You let your guard down. Must be getting rusty?" A soft voice murmurs from behind.
"Maria," he breathes. Altair does not dare to turn. He can feel her nearness. The gentle breath besides his ear. A soft touch at his elbow. She is that close, and he wonders why he did not sense her.
"How did you-?" Altair slowly turns, only to find her weaving through the crowds, her cape fluttering by.
So that is the game you want to play?
He follows her footsteps seamlessly. Like a panther stalking its prey. Over tiled rooftops and bypassing sleepy guards.
She leads him to a dark and abandoned alley. Where she pulls him close and seals her lips over his.
"I have missed you," she gasps out between kisses. Her hands explore the familiar muscular contours. His neck, his broad shoulders, and his unyielding chest.
Altair reluctantly pulls away after a few seconds. "You did not call me here for this."
Maria chuckles. Her husky voice sends chills up his spine, and he almost does not mind.
"No, but am I not allowed to greet my guest?"
"If that is so, it is a wonder why you do not have more guests," Altair replies back playfully. He purposely keeps his hands on her elbows, ready to hold back her advances but yet at the same time not discouraging. "Perhaps it is because of your detached farewells?"
She has the decency to look guilty. Maria releases him, leans back and answers softly, "I do not like saying good byes. And I was… confused." He stays silent. Waiting for more explanations, but she gives none.
"You wanted assistance?" Altair gently reminds her.
She glances up at him curiously for a few seconds. Most men do not mind playing first and then moving onto business. But Altair is not an ordinary man. His inhuman sense of self control gives her a bittersweet aftertaste of envy.
"The current Grand Templar, Gilbert Horal, has taken someone precious from me. I want him back, but I cannot hope to infiltrate the Templar base over there by myself."
"He took a hostage? To where?"
She takes a deep breath. "France."
His eyes narrow. "You want me to travel to France? The entire voyage itself will almost last half a year."
Maria looks up at him beseechingly. "This is more than just a personal favor. Gilbert also transported all the remains of the Templar Archives to Europe. The answers to your questions regarding the Piece of Eden and the truth, lies there."
Malik's words float up. She may be leading you into a trap…
But Altair can see her earnestness. It shines off of her, in light waves of blue. There's a desperate edge to her voice, a silent plea in her eyes. He finds himself conceding.
"Very well. But before that, can you tell me anything about this?" He takes a necklace out of his bag.
Maria takes it carefully and examines it carefully. The chain is of fine metal and light, but it is the tiny ornament which hangs off of it that interests her. Although it is tarnished and misshapen, she can still make out the elaborate insignia on the gold medallion.
"A family seal, but not one I am familiar with. I can ask my friends about it. May I ask what or who is it for?"
Altair hesitates. For a rare moment of his life, he finds himself tongue-tied.
Exactly what is she to me?
"A close friend," he finally manages, and detests the sour taste the words are leaving behind.
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Greetings Brother,
It is within my responsibility to inform you of my expected absence. There seems to be matters in Europe, more specifically the country France, that requires further investigation. Unfortunately, this will prolong my return indeterminately. I shall find a means to secure a method of correspondence when I arrive.
During my traveling days onboard a ship, I have been gazing into the Apple. There are many secrets and flashes of future within its golden core. I must disclose more of what I have learned later. The future of the Brotherhood may be greatly affected.
-A
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"Safety and peace, Master Shafiq. Tell me, what brings you to seek an audience with me?" Malik politely welcomes the white-haired man.
"Master, it is with great misgivings that I ask you to discontinue your patronage of Jinan's activities," the elder declares with a resigned expression, "She continues to train and work until her body is utterly exhausted. She will not eat, or sleep. This is the third time that one of my apprentices found her unconscious in the hallways. I have always looked upon her kindly and regarded her as if she was my own, so for her safety and health, I beseech you."
"I see," Malik calmly says, narrowing his eyes until they are slits, "And where is she now?"
"In the infirmary, recovering from her recent fainting spell."
"I shall do what I can. You may go." Malik turns and massages the bridge of his nose delicately.
Why is one slip of a girl so much trouble? He muses exasperatedly to himself as he descends the stairs and heads towards the infirmary. The guards bow their heads in reverence. He passes by them slowly, knowing their names by face.
Inside, there lay many cots. Some with injured inmates. Some not. Only empty because the previous inmate is no longer alive, and not for a lack of patients. There is never a shortage.
Jin lays in one of the cots furthest down. She has white curtains closing her off from the other wards, most likely in consideration of her gender.
Malik draws closer to her bed. He notes her sunken eyes, her hollow cheeks, and her ghost-like coloring with growing disquiet. His hand slowly reaches over to wake her, but he stops himself at the last second. Scowling, he withdraws the traitorous hand.
"Jin."
She stirs slightly. Malik calls her name again, more sternly. Slowly, her viridian eyes flutter open. He does not like the dim, glazed look in her gaze before they slowly focus on him. Not one bit.
"Hm?"
"Stop it," he orders. She tilts her head up to regard him with puzzlement in her face.
"Stop acting like a petulant child."
"I do not-"
"You know very well what I mean."
He levels his stern glare at the girl. Her eyes leave his face. They drift to gaze at the white, hanging curtains.
"He is not coming back," she whispers, more to herself than to the man in front of her.
The line of his mouth thins. It has been two months since Altair's departure. There has been no letter or word from him.
Malik swallows the curt words he has ready at the tip of his tongue. No, taunts and biting remarks are not going to be effective here. With a rare inflection in his voice, Malik softly replies, "I do not doubt his abilities or commitment to the Brotherhood. He will return. But what good will come to him if you are wasting away and in poor health?"
"I am so …tired, Malik." His name comes from her mouth so casually. Without honorifics or titles. But the way she pronounces it strikes a sensitive chord within him that is unfortunately lost upon her.
"We all are. Life is a constant struggle," he affirms with a slight nod of his head.
A small chuckle from Jin. A dapple of color in her cheeks, and he finds himself unable to tear away from her captivating face.
"Look at you now. Pathetic. What happened to the girl that hassled me and asked me for training? Who spars in the ring with men twice her size? Who quarrels at the slightest provocation?"
"You are being awfully nice today," Jin teases, retreating back to familiar banter.
"I only make the effort for an emergency."
A raised eyebrow. "And I suppose me fainting constitutes as an emergency? My, my…"
"Only if your carcass is blocking the hallways."
She laughs. Or tries to, but what actually comes out is a dry, hacking cough. He desperately to punch a wall. Or perhaps, a certain assassin.
"I thought you forge your own paths in life. Or have you forgotten how to? Are you forsaking your Novice status and giving up the chance to earn your blade? You are disappointing me."
"I am trying to," she mumbles, "I still go to training…"
"And your half-hearted efforts will only get you killed. Do not take the Brotherhood lightly. I will have you bound and force-fed until you regain your senses," he retorts.
"Fine. I give up. I suppose I have to rejoin the world of the living," Jin smiles crookedly.
Food immediately appears in her line of vision. A bowl of steaming stew and a loaf of wheat bread. Her stomach immediately growls its agreement.
"Good," Malik says, "Then I shall see you there."
A slight twitch in a corner of his lips. The only tell tale sign that he almost smiled.
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To my dear friend and Brother,
I hope this letter finds you in good health and condition. This courier is trustworthy and reliable for such long distance communication, so I hope you will respond and maintain correspondence.
The new Grand Templar is Gilbert Horal. He is not a war-seeking brute, but neither is he a peace-loving saint. The treasures within Limassol was moved into France, to a location in which I must now go find.
He has taken their order into hiding. They are not in the open anymore, and not so easy to kill. With serious contemplation, I suggest we do the same. Instead of public assassinations, we can weave our webs quietly, from the shadows. If our foes cannot find us, then all the better.
In that regard, I sometimes ask myself, "Why the Creed? Why abide by these rules if the truth is never truly objective?" There are some rituals that I feel can be best left forgotten, and install new ones to replace them. But I must not get ahead of myself. I kindly and humbly request your wisdom and advice on this matter, for I do not know how this sort of change will affect the Brotherhood.
-A
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It was not going well. Guards at every corner and nook. Archers ready in their protected towers. Gilbert Horal's estate is has tighter security than King Richard's camp. Not an insect can go by without a guard noticing.
Their plan is simple. He will find a way inside, and she will follow. After infiltrating the mansion, they will go their separate ways. Maria insists that she finds the hostage, while he goes investigate about the whereabouts of the new Templar hold.
He has protested many times. It is obvious the hostage is under heavy guard, and he will be better at dispatching them. In which his female companion stares him down, and punishes him with silent treatment until he gives in.
In order to salvage what is left of his masculine pride, Altair is taking pains to find the efficient route through the walls of guards and archers. His experienced eyes scouts from the forest bordering the west wall, and finally, settling on a low turret with an three open windows.
"There," he whispers, pointing it out to his companion.
Maria gives him an incredulous look. "You expect me to climb that?"
He looks her over. A mischievous grin slowly appearing. "Why not?" And after hearing her describe him with a few choice words, Altair explains, "Just stay undetected and wait for my signal." He takes off before she can protest.
He makes his way, silent as a panther, to the base of the wall. As the patrolling guards turns the corner, he sneaks in behind them. Maria watches with amazement as he begins to effortlessly scales the fortress wall with nobody noticing him.
Before a new round of guards turns the corner, he already dispatches the archers from outside the window ledge. A sturdy rope appears, and she can only assume that is his signal.
Not wanting to be outdone, Maria mimics his earlier actions with extreme precision. Stalking silently, she successfully sneaks behind the guards. Climbing however, is another story. As she struggles to pull her weight over the twenty feet wall she hears the steady march of approaching guards. Panic tightens her throat. Miraculously, at that moment she feels the rope lifting her up effortlessly.
She sniffs at Altair's smug look when she finally climbs through the window. "That was not necessary."
He answers with a teasing smirk. "Of course not."
They parted ways at the end of the hallway. One to the north, where information lies hidden within Gilbert Horal's main study and one to the stairs westward, where a precious someone awaits her.
It does not take neither of them long to find what they are looking for. However, as they meet up in their agreed rendezvous, the assassin notes Maria returns empty-handed. Her face is tightened with barely suppressed emotion, of which he is not certain if she is angry, distressed, or a mixture of everything. A trickle of blood is dripping from her left temple.
"Are you alright?" he asks urgently as he walks over.
Her answer is tight-lipped and terse. "I am fine. Guards are coming, we should go."
She finds him, playing in a light-filled garden surrounded by butterflies. It has been at least a year and a half since she has last seen him. He is running on his two feet instead of crawling on fours, and his dark curls are growing long to frame his child-like face. He squeals in delight as a colorful butterfly lands on his shoulder.
Maria takes a step closer. He is truly his father's son. The determined set of eyebrows, same shade of hair, and matching bone structure. The only claim she has on him is his eyes. A clear, light cerulean.
"I should have came with you," he says as he walks towards her.
"No."
She does not expect him to be unguarded. And he is not. A woman, middle-aged and dressed in a fine gown, watches him with adoring devotion.
Maria sneers. How picturesque. But at the same time, it makes her job that much easier.
She draws her sword silently, and steps into the dappled sunlight. The woman turns eventually, and gasps out. Maria wastes no breath, and a spray of red soon erupts from the woman's jugular.
"We can go back," he gently puts a comforting hand on her shoulder.
She violently shrugs him off. "No!" Walks past him, braces herself against the rampart. "We need to leave, now."
As the dying woman collapses upon the grass, young Robert looks up from his play. His sky blue eyes widen at the sight of his caretaker, lying in a growing pool of crimson blood. His gaze then moves up to meet those of Maria's.
"Mommy?" he tentatively asks.
"Yes, Mommy is here now. I will take you back," Maria bends down on one knee, both arms beckoning to the child.
"What happened." Altair's tone leaves no room for dispute.
"He is gone," she answers simply.
Young Robert runs past her open arms. Does not even spare her so much as a glance as he runs and trips his way to the bloody corpse.
"Mommy!" He asks in growing alarm. He shakes her. Once. Twice. His voice grows shrill. "Mommy come back!"
Maria stays frozen on the ground. Looking straight ahead. Her arms now lay limp at her side.
She cannot believe it. He has truly forgotten her. She means nothing to him, and of course nobody would have told him who his real mother is.
Desperately, she makes his way over to him. Takes his arm and pulls.
She does not expect him to resist. To have his hand swing upwards and strike at her face with a rock. The implications of his actions rather than the actual blow, shocks her into immobility. She stays frozen, looking at her own child glare at her with such hatred and loathing on his face.
The voices of approaching guards eventually snaps her back to reality. Quickly, she stands, and with one lingering glance at the child, makes her escape. Alone.
"I am sorry for your loss." His tone is genuine. She takes a shuddering breath. Nods in acknowledgement.
The beautiful picture, ruined and lost to her.
"Nothing lasts forever. Sometimes… you just need to let go," she softly whispers into the wind.
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To my idiotic comrade,
About time you sent word. I was just about to give the order to dig your grave site.
It has been a year since your departure. Things are not the same as when you left. There has been changes already made. For example, a woman within the ranks. Your charge is doing exceptionally well, and she herself is aiming to earn the Assassin's blade. In addition, we expanded our networks immensely. No longer confined in our nearby neighbors, we stretch to as far as Eastern Asia. Yes, the Templars may have went into hiding, but I made sure we are still one step ahead of them.
With that said, what you propose is still too drastic a revolution. I hope you considered the implications of your words. To go into hiding would mean abandoning Masyaf, a stronghold of the Assassins since its conception. This is no trivial matter. But I trust you to have already weighed all the options before coming to that conclusion.
May fortune favor your blade,
-M
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Sometimes, she finds his office empty. With nobody and just his endless amount of paperwork laying abandoned on the table, Jin cannot help but wander inside. She drifts closer to the maple desk, and peers over.
She finds herself admiring the intricate lines and curves of topography. The strict, sharp handwriting which is so typical of its owner names cities, rivers, and mountains with precise accuracy. Nothing fancy, nothing lacking. Just… exact.
"Does your training entail sneaking into superior's work rooms?" A caustic voice asks behind her.
Jin turns slowly, not letting Malik's glare of death intimidate her. "No, this is a skill I perfected on my own." She offers a smile sheepishly. Malik, of course, remains stone-faced and austere. His dark eyebrows gather in a perpetual scowl, and his onyx gaze studies her cautiously.
She gestures toward the open map. "It is beautiful. Did you draw them all?"
"There is more to maps than just pretty letters and designs," he brusquely brushes off her compliment and makes his way to his desk. Rolls up the map and picks up stray scrolls. All with the dexterity of his sole hand. She watches, fascinated.
"Do not mess with things you do not understand, woman."
"I can read maps," she sniffs sensitively, "and I can tell when good-quality work lay in front of me."
"If that is all you came to do, I shall now ask you to leave. Work awaits. For all of us," he gives her a pointed look.
In a rare gesture of immaturity, Jin sticks out her tongue at him. "I was trying to express my gratitude. For waking me up, in a figurative sense."
"And you can show me your gratitude, by leaving me in peace."
"Your words are harsh. And yet your actions contradict," Jin points out quietly. There is no vanity or conceitedness in her tone, "Your office is always unguarded and you have never used brute strength to coerce me into leaving."
"I do not like to waste men when it is clear that my office is a private space. Will using force make my point clearer?" Malik replies acidly.
She smiles. "Careful now. I have been training daily, if you desire a battle of skills there is no guarantee that you will win. I do not go easy on anyone."
"Even a cripple," Malik finishes her thought, while following her gaze on his missing arm, "And I will not go easy, even if you are a woman. I would say we are on a pretty level playing field."
Jin scoffs. "Proud, male chauvinistic…" she angrily mutters underneath her breath.
"Jin! There you are…" Yasmin's bubbly voice drifts up from the stairs. She is wearing her usual dress of light, shimmering material. Her black hair is loose and flowing, and her eyes are outlined in kohl.
"Oh! Master Malik," she bows sweetly as she catches sight of him, "Please excuse my interruption. I was looking for Jinan; she is late for her morning lessons."
Jin sees the sudden twitch of annoyance on his face, before he quickly reverts back to his usual expression. Malik turns to look out the window, his back silently dismissing them.
Yasmin drags her out by the arm. When they are out of overhearing range, Yasmin jerks her closer and hisses under her breath, "Why must you always pick a fight with him? Have I taught you nothing?" Jin looks at her in surprise.
"You heard it all?" she whispers back.
"Of course! Like a rooster, the sounds of you two arguing awake us each morning."
"Surely you jest," Jin dryly replies. Yasmin halts. Jin also stops.
"I assure you, I am not. If you like him, then why must you trade harsh words?"
Jin sputters, "I do not!" Realizing how loud she is in the hallway and people are starting to stare, Jin quickly ducks her head and continues fervently, "If you have been listening from the beginning, you can hear that he was the one who started it. I was merely trying to thank him for his kindness."
Yasmin sighs. Shakes her head resignedly.
"Looks like you still have some ways to go, Habibi."
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To my dear concerned friend,
I am glad you are eagerly awaiting my return. Guess I will be saving you the expense of paying for my funeral.
I am grateful for all that you have done. For me and the Brotherhood. I know it was you who once said we share our glories in victory as well as defeat, but I cannot take credit for your hard-earned labor and efforts.
Even though I am not there in person, there are some knowledge the Apple imparted to me that I hope may impart: Our main weapon, the hidden blade, can be altered to suit many different situations. For example, the gauntlet can be metal-plated to deflect blows easier. Poison can be stored in a compartment and injected when necessary. But most importantly, the loss of a ring finger can be prevented.
Attached is a tentative blueprint of a modified hidden blade. Note how we only have to change a few things in the basic structure, and it will be moderately easy to have one blade on each hand. However, to give an individual that much power is another matter.
On a side note, what have you been feeding my courier? He has been getting plumper each return.
Until next time,
-A
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To the everlasting wanderer,
It does not escape me that you send that sort of design before a certain someone earns their blade the traditional way. (She will still have many years to go) But I digress, it shall be as you say. Instead of giving up a finger, new Assassins will be branded with our crest on their ring digit.
The revised design was tried out recently and it was a success. How unfortunate that you only manage to catch a glimpse of these useful techniques now and not those days when you locked yourself in the basement… Or perhaps you were too distracted to remember clearly.
And your "courier" is being pampered as I write. Do blame your charge for over-feeding him with grains. He might get too heavy to lift himself off the ground one day.
Waiting so very eagerly for your return,
-M
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My humorous comrade,
Your subtle charms are lost upon me. But I do see my absence has affected you greatly. Do us all a favor and find a woman to banter and tease with.
-A
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His sense of balance is impeccable.
It makes sense, Jin reasons, for the lack of the other arm must have forced him to fine-tune and adjust. She goes in for another attack, this time swing at low midsection instead of the shoulder.
Malik takes a side step, turning in an agile manner, just the necessary amount to avoid her sword. Shifts footing. Slides in from her open side. Twists and swings.
"Hit," he announces as the backside of his hand makes contact with her shoulder blades.
"Damn it to hell!" Jin curses as she throws down the practice sword. "I have not landed a single hit on you!"
Malik raises one single dark eyebrow to regard her. "And what does that prove? I have had years of training and experience. Does this mean you will be giving up?"
"I will not be goaded like that," she growls. Jin picks up her sword and settles into a ready stance. Malik smirks to himself briefly.
She still gets herself worked up anyways.
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Dear Brother,
It has been another year since I last heard from you. I wonder, is this no longer a viable means of correspondence?
-M
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Sometimes, he wonders if he is color blind.
He has heard of the defect before. When men cannot distinguish between green and red, blue with orange, and the colors all become a blur to them.
So when he wakes up one morning and sees blonde instead of chestnut brown, forest green instead of sky blue, he wonders.
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To my dear Brother,
I apologize. Circumstances prevented me from corresponding regularly. Perhaps our little plump messenger got side-tracked by tasty morsels on the way.
I have explored foreign lands and is now en route to India. My findings in regards to the Vault in France will have to wait until we may speak in person.
Attached is a formula for a hybrid metal. It is something I glimpsed in the Apple again. A strange and new technology which has not been discovered yet. Please use it with discretion.
-A
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"I have never seen Lady Zahrah in person. Yasmin, why is that?"
"Oh, her chambers are located on the top floor of the west wing. She hardly needs to make appearances. Food and everything is sent up for her."
"Is she too old to come down from her high tower?"
"Hush! Never let anyone hear you say that! Our Lady's beauty transcends those of mortals and she is rumored to be a favored concubine. Unfortunately, she fell in love with a servant and they eloped. She hides here because this is the only place where the sultan's army cannot hope to reach."
"You do not say…"
"Oh I know that look. You are dying of curiosity are you not?"
"Well I only wish to gaze upon her so famed beauty myself…"
"Not a good idea. Your existence should be as quiet as possible. She knows of you, but since you are Altair's woman, she cannot hope to touch you."
"…"
"Please Jin, do not give me that face. Why is it every time his name is uttered you look like death?"
"I-I rather not talk about it."
"A heart should be able to forget with time. Do not keep the old wounds and let them fester. It is bad for your health."
A heavy sigh. "Yasmin, if I only could, I would have already."
"Jin… I will be leaving soon. On my first official mission."
"Where to?"
"Acre. I am to be married."
"To whom? When did you fall in love? Will you come back?"
A tinkling laugh. "Who says I am in love? This is purely business. I am to spy on my husband and report his activities to the Rafiq stationed there. It is the will of my Lady and the Brotherhood. And no, I do not think I will come back for quite a time. That is why… I will be less worried if you can take better care of yourself."
"I am. I eat three times a day, exercise daily, my monthly is reg-"
"Not that. With the matters of your heart."
"I will try. You leaving does not help matters."
"Do not fret. Friendship is not defined by distance, but the strength and durability of the bond. Remember that."
"… I will miss you."
"As will I, Habibi, as will I."
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Twilight settles quietly within Masyaf. The setting sun already hidden behind the horizon and the birds are roosting for the night.
Yasmin rises from her bath of rose water and dresses herself in evening wear. Her hair hangs off in loose, damp waves and she decides tonight she does not want to line her eyes or put rouge on her lips. She examines herself in the mirror. Her youthful, smooth face smiles back at her cheerfully.
As she descends the stone stairs in her satin slippers, she sees a familiar figure by the open window.
"Good evening, Master Malik," she greets in a soft voice. He turns and acknowledges her with a nod. She joins him by the sill. Follows his gaze. To the far tree in the small meadow in the back. Where a girl sits by herself quietly at the base of the trunk.
"She is always there. Mourning for a man who is still alive." He says nothing in return. The brooding look is etched firm and deep in his face. "But I wonder, will there be someone else who can take her mind off of her unnecessary depression. Lets say… a certain map-making scholar?" Yasmin coyly asks with a suggestive tilt of her head.
"You are to leave tomorrow for Acre. Are you nervous?" Malik shifts his gaze to watch her. Effectively ending that path of conversation.
"No. I suppose not. I am honored to fulfill my duty."
"You sound like a matyr at the gallows."
A faint hint of sadness in her smile. "Perhaps. If Kaddar was still alive, I would have different sentiments."
He bows his head. "I am sorry. I forget that his passing has affected many, and not just those in the Assassin's ranks."
Yasmin turns. Leans against the sill with her elbows. She turns her face to the wind, so he may not see the unshed tears. "He died with honor and was true to what he believed. In my own way, that too, is what I hope to achieve."
"I wish you success then. Safety and peace."
He leaves discretely. Pretending he did not see the wetness of her cheeks. Or the emptiness of her soul.
Notes: Really sorry about lack of updates. Life is crazy, I am to travel and work this entire summer, so no guarantees on anything!
1) I find it interesting how everyone hates Maria. I tried to make her seem as real and human as possible. She's just a tough woman who hides her weaknesses well and knows a bit more of what she wants. Never really intended for her to be portrayed "evil". I guess I should be flattered how everyone sides with Jin. :D
2) I researched on how many nautical miles it is from Syria to France, how fast ships traveled back then, and still came up with something close to 1 month. That, and I added land travel time, how maybe the ship will be making many pit stops to trading posts along the way. I was hoping it would take much longer... like a yearround trip.
3) Altair's letters should lead up to page 13 of codex.
4) Garden concept, once again, borrowed from callalili's Bitter Leaves and Blossom's Bright. Go read it!
5) I'm embarrassed to say, but I actually have a real-life person I base Altair off of. Not so much as personality, but my situation is somewhat similar to that of Jin and Altair's. If anything, I hope that my frustration and misery in not seeing him reflects that in writing. And that is probably why it's so depressing right now. Haha (And no, we're not dating, I have no idea where I stand with him. Another similarity.)