Dear Cato,
I won't kill you. And I'm not a fucking whore, either. Just shut up. But listen to me. Please. Come, I don't live that far away. We are the winners, Cato. We can kick anybody's arse. And I'm sorry if you don't want to join me. You can mourn that idiot girl in hell for all I care.
Or you could come visit me, the only person who knows how you really feel, and actually be able to start over without worrying. It's your choice. Hell or me. If you choose hell, I really don't care. You can die. If you choose me, well, we'll both be a lot happier, that's for sure.
Really Super Confused,
Clove.
Dear Clover,
What is your obsession with me for? Seriously, it's kind of creepy. Really creepy. I loved Glimmer, and there is nothing you can do about it. I choose hell. I'm sorry that you were so stupid to fall in love with me, Clover. I really am, you know.
But I can't betray Glimmer, you know that. I know she's dead, too. It's just… I don't know.
Sincerely and Sorryily (Yes, Clover, I think I did make up that name. Don't roll your eyes and be immature about it,),
Cato.
P.S: Write me letters. While I have no desire to see you, at least we can stay in touch through this. Because whilst I love Glimmer, we can still be friends, bitch.
Dear Cato,
I will still write you letters. I just hope you can read them while you are in hell, you idiot.
And why did you make up a word? Seriously, Cato, you never fail to amaze me with your obvious stupidity. I still love you though, you idiot.
Sighing,
Clover.
Dear Clover,
I am flattered. You used my nickname for you finally.
Anyway, I can still receive your letters. I am not in hell. Not when you write me letters.
From,
A very happy Cato.