Chapter Text
My dear Myka,
What a strange feeling. To be writing this to you, knowing with near certainty that you will not see it. But I've grown so used to sharing my thoughts with you, and these are about you and for you, if no longer visible to you. I waited, for any letter - for mine or yours in equal measure, though I in truth have already been planning for the possibilities, unable to simply still. Have already begun to lay out the pieces of our Remington, and wonder: did I break it for us both? Did it suddenly come apart in your hands one day? Are you writing to me now as I am writing to you, into a void - one that til now did not feel empty. Now... now I sit with my letter returned back to me, and I have noone to blame for this loss but myself - that and the fate that brought us together to begin with, but I cannot be angry with that force.
Charles and I visited the Institute a few days ago - never has a tour, a meeting, a handshake felt so important. The Remington is in poor shape, and requires a skill far beyond what I possess at present or am likely to be able to acquire without training.
I must have made myself rather pathetic, or desperate, for they've agreed to allow me entry at 16 rather than 18. Meanwhile I shall do my best not to touch the beloved' for what will we do if I damage it irreparably in my haste? I have done enough without thought already.
Myka, I know you will not read this. But I promise, I will fix this, my friend. My dear.
I move with purpose, now. And once I have fixed this, and we may speak to one another again, imagine, Myka what else in this world might be real? What else might we create, find, explore, manifest together?
Until that day, Myka, I am -
Your
Helena