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Prologue
3 years ago —
Dear Mrs. Dane,
I got your address from the post office here in Sigilis listed under the City Friends program. It feels strange to be writing messages to strangers, but the post office assured me it was perfectly normal. First of all, thank you for agreeing to correspond with me. I am delighted to make your acquaintance.
The post office lady told me I should explain why I want to make a pen friend in my first letter, so here it is:
I am lonely.
That is the long and short of it. Isn’t that why we all make friends, because we need someone to make us feel less lonely in this world?
If this honest confession does not put you off, I will explain why I’m lonely. I was widowed sixty years ago. It took six years to fall in love, a year to plan my marriage, three years to have a son, and then she was gone. My wife died a couple of years ago. She was human and hence, her lifespan was much shorter than mine. It’s strange how life can change in a moment, and no matter what you do, you can’t go back to who you used to be. As time passes, the memories become more precious. I sometimes think if we had a bad marriage, getting through her death would be easier, but we were happy, for however long it lasted.
My son has grown up and has moved on, but I remain where I was sixty years ago. Grief follows me like a shadow, a secret burden that I must forever carry. It is also something I cannot speak about openly. That is why I have resorted to writing, burdening a stranger with my grim letters.
I apologize for being inconsiderate. In return, you may burden me with equally grim messages.
The post office tells me you’re a war widow. I would like to know more about you. I’ve never had a pen friend before. I’ve never even had a genuine friend before. My work is my only companion, the only thing that keeps me alive. However, when I moved to Sigilis, I decided to do something to move on from my wife’s death. In my own way, I am being courageous by taking that first step toward you. I hope you take that into consideration before you tear my letter to pieces and burn it.
I am thankful to you for your silent companionship and would be delighted to be a friend, whatever that means to you.
Yours sincerely,
Mr. Garrett
Three days later —
Dear Mr. Garrett,
Thank you for writing to me and trusting me with your story. I offer my condolences. Love is a rare thing, and I am glad you were able to find it in this lifetime. As an avid reader of romance novels, I can only ever dream of experiencing something so beautiful.
I never thought I’d receive a letter when I signed up for the program, let alone such an honest one. I prefer plain speaking, really. I’m often chastised by my colleagues for it, but I cannot help but call an apple an apple. That is also why I have no friends. In that, we are alike.
As you said, I am a war widow. However, I don’t have any fond memories of my late husband. He was always a distant, shadowy figure, and we didn’t live together much. But I relate to your predicament due to my mother’s recent passing. She too, was human and had a much shorter life than me. That is why I decided to write back to you. I know what it feels like to lose a loved one. However, unlike you, I have tried to erase every fond memory of her. I hate for leaving me alone.
As soon as the funeral was done, I got rid of all her belongings and cleaned out the house. I moved residences and took up a new job. If she loved me, how could she betray me by leaving me alone to face this cruel world?
With a personality like mine, it isn’t easy to get along with people. That is why, his absence wears greatly on me. My co-workers try to comfort me. They say all the right things, yet, I feel isolated, as if none of them truly understand my pain. They are not grieving with me and that makes me feel all alone in this journey. Did you feel that way too?
I haven’t been able to share my concerns with anyone for a while. The more I try to hold these feelings down, the stronger their push to rise to the surface. Death is a unique bond that grieving share. It’s a heavy burden but a humbling one. I find that I can now see this maturity in others. I can see the many varied layers of life whereas I previously saw only the most superficial layer.
If you’re not intimidated by my outspokenness, I would like to continue corresponding with you. You’re right, perhaps we all need a friend in this world. As for what friendship means to me, it means having someone who isn’t afraid to step on the battlefield with me. Someone who isn’t overwhelmed by the depth of my pain, but willing to hold my hand as I find my way through the darkness.
If you can be that person, I would be happy to do the same for you—to become a beacon of light in your darkness.
Yours faithfully,
Mrs. Dane
One
Felix
It was Saturday—the day her letter would arrive.
Felix, the head of the Sapphire Serpents, entered the royal palace at Sigilis that afternoon, his head filled with thoughts of her. The warm spring breeze blew over a patch of white dandelions, filling the air with pollen, and making him wonder if Mrs. Dane was doing all right. She developed allergies every spring, something she’d written about in her letters to him.
