letter one
I am here. Or there, or elsewhere. In my beginning.
Did you like my joke? In all the time I’ve studied you, I haven’t been able to figure out if you have a sense of humor beyond the sick one you show in battle. Perhaps that’s my shortcoming. And, of course, there’s always the chance you aren’t one for poetry. That, I suppose, would also be on me. I should’ve studied you more closely. I will say, the careful, calculated way you cut through our soldiers fascinates me. If you were on my side, I would almost say it would be worthy of memorializing in poetic form.
Almost.
I hoped you’d be here.
I hoped your curiosity would get the better of you once again. I’ve seen it happen a few times. We locked eyes once. Do you remember it? I’m sure you do; it’s the one time I think anyone’s ever really been able to get under your skin. You stared at me for just long enough for someone to land a hit on you, which, of course, is the only time I’ve seen that happen, too.
You didn’t look at me again after that.
Can I make an admission? Conflict has gotten tedious. Do you agree? It’s not that combat itself has ever ceased to thrill me. There’s never going to be anything quite like leaping into a strand in the thick of a fight, but they were all starting to end the same way. We’d win one, then you’d win one. A gridlock. I don’t think this war has gone much of anywhere in years. Everything ends the same way. We both scurry off to our respective home futures and pretend that the next time we meet is going to finally be the one that brings about a real change. It never is. All we’re doing now is hurting each other for the very sake of causing pain. That’s not what I signed up for.
You made it interesting again. You made it challenging again, dare I say it. It’s nice to have an equal. I could take out the rest of your agents with nothing but a wave of my finger. To destroy you, I would at least have to put some force behind the blow. I watch you, sometimes, when I know we’re in the same place. It’s almost marvelous, the way you move with such ruthless accuracy. I hate to pay you anything close to a compliment (especially since I already voiced this sentiment once), but I like to think that stoking your ego will only make this more fun for me in the long run.
I have to build you up. It’ll make it more satisfying when I’m the reason you fall.
Thank you for that, by the way. I’m not sure if it’s proper form to extend gratitude to someone who I feel sure would love to see me torn to pieces, but regardless, I’ll do it. One of us has to be brave enough to say it. We may be enemies, but we don’t have to treat each other like monsters. There’s no point in that. This can be a gentleman’s rivalry, though I know that won’t appeal to you. You hate playing by any sort of rules. Honestly, I’m surprised you’ve lasted in the Coven’s rigid structure for this long. From what I’ve heard, the Mother doesn’t take well to those who dare to laugh in the face of her authority.
Is she the one thing that frightens you? No—that can’t be it. You wouldn’t be reading this if you were afraid of her. Hm. Another question that I’ll need answered at some point. Don’t worry. I’ll figure you out. I always do.
Did you like the flames? I found them quite clever. I’ve watched the way your magic works. I’ve seen the way it consumes anyone unlucky enough to end up on the other side of it. I thought perhaps watching these words meet a similar fate would feel familiar—and, selfishly, I must admit I hoped it would give you a taste of your own medicine. I know the people you rip the life from. I mourn them. They stay in my mind the way these words will stay in yours, and now, any time you want to think about what I’ve written to you, you must remember what it feels like to burn ink into your murderous fingertips.
Well, that, and there’s no way to let the Coven know any of what I’ve written here without informing them that I’ve found my way into their mind. You’re trapped. I could tell you a thousand secrets, and I think you would be far too selfish to ever reveal how you found them. You won’t sacrifice your own life. It’s what makes you so dangerous. You’re so hellbent on surviving that you’re willing to throw anyone else’s life away to make sure you keep your own.
But, unfortunately for you, this is how we win.
I don’t mean just to tout my superiority, of course. I like to believe you think better of me than to think I’d go through all the trouble of writing a letter for you just to taunt you about my inevitable victory. It would be rude. I simply wanted you to know how much more fun this endless war is now that you’re on the other side of it. Your magic is of great intrigue to me. Did you know you leave little traces of yourself everywhere you go? There’s a specific chemical makeup to the skin left behind when you siphon someone’s power. We managed to recover one of the corpses before the planet crumbled. We’ll be studying it, and the next time we meet, our soldiers will have a little bit of you in them. Not enough to make a difference—there’s no need to be concerned. You’ll still mostly be special.
I suppose I’ll see you for the next one. I hope you’ll forgive me for saying I hope it goes just as badly for you.
Fondly,
Green