𝐄𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐞 - 𝐃𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐨 𝐌𝐚𝐥𝐟𝐨𝐲

21-Rihannon; Bonus Chapter

Your eugenics overwhelmed mine so vigorously, I am still shaken by it. Staring into her eyes is like staring into yours. They are the rare gems of chatoyant; uneven and undecided whether to be mellow or verdant. Her cheeks are like blooming tulips, except they do not wither in the winter (I would not be so sure, though. She has lived too little to feel snowfall or the cold breeze wilt her blossoming tulips, but she is just so occult, I oppose everything I just assumed) 

She is dotted with darker copper-colored iotas and specks. They travel like ants across both cheeks, and the bridge of her nose. She has not yet uttered a syllable or glide of a word, more so one understandable, and isn't gibberish and scrabbled. She coos when she heeds a colorful, sumptuously vibrant creature, or any glistening ore that is slightly covered by the soil of the ocean; sand. 

I made a prognostication: that in years to come (after this all is called to a permanent halt), I see us in a field of all our favorite flowers. (she, I promise you, will be old enough by then to determine her own for herself) as we laugh and trade witticisms. You will pick her up as her human legs dangle from the air. I will watch with no envy of her. We will be together, and happy.

Although she does not do much but stubbornly grasp my thorax, or blubber against my neck, I don't discern why, but I have a strange feeling that she is to become something remarkable. And she will enhance the lives of at a most insignificant amount; one. She already has taken mine, and yours too. Waiting for you has no limit for me; I will abide till the twilight coincides with me for the hundredth season until the apollo greets the flowers of the generations to come. 

Yours for
evermore,
R

❊

I used to romanticize and fantasize about a tranquil life with you and her. We would wander through the meadow grass, with wildflowers: like daffodils, poppies, pansies, wisteria. Many I can't name. 

You have repeated 'We cannot, we cannot, we cannot!' 

 It still rings in my head when her wailings are not. 

I crave you did not let me down! I wish you would lie to me just this once! Oh, what suffering would it do if you said something merely so like 'I hope so darling' or, 'Soon, dear, very soon...' along with your direct gaze and handsome peculiarities that I once foolishly fell in love with. You stated that this would bring us together, but this has only brought us further and is the frontier between us. I wait for you at the lakes every day, only to be met with disappointment. As the sun sets and the moon awakens, she gives me a pitiful and almost pungent look as my eyes still search for a glimpse of yours. Do you not hold any compunction? Do you like the impression that you have forsaken me with your child and now solitude to nurse her with? I hope you read this in a gaze of shame! I hope you tut to yourself and scold yourself like a child, and like you did with me! You have minimized yourself into nothing to me. I don't -and will never - forgive you for what you did. I pledge to you I will never let you see her or me ever anew. And please, hold me to it. 

R

❊

My dearest thing, 

I know you are afraid and abandoned. I have left you with nothing but solitude, and this letter. I humiliate myself for that every day. I wish I could do more, but I cannot. He is too powerful.

You are not only alone and afraid, but I would think now a feeling of demoralization has accompanied your solitude. I assume you are older by the time you read this. And I know it is you, Cordelia, who is reading this. My writing is inscribed in special tusche, in which only those who share similar blood and related ancestry can understand this. Notwithstanding that, it is too dangerous for me to tell you who I am, and my relations to you. This writing comes with a curse. He can read it too if he ever manages to find it. But he will not, this is with you, and he will not find you. 

You might not read this, but it is safe writing that I love you, more than words can say. I love you to the point where I have taken my life just for you to live your own. You are loved, if not by one, then so be many. I cant write my love for you much, the ink bleeds into the pages and does not return. I will tell you this; you are more powerful than you think you are. Use that power with good intention 

Stay safe. And cherish that no one is to be trusted 

❊

.

.

.

Her gaze was quivering and the words began to look like messy lines and circles as she read through the parchment. She put the book down on her hardwood desk; A hand brought to her face, sweating and glistening in a tint of horror. 

In her office, a dim torch lit the room, plainly where she sat and only where she needed to see. Along with the candle, the moon that was now a crescent sat, its light illuminating the paper and part of her shakey hands.  

She felt frozen and burning both concurrently. The woman thought she would die without contracting any illness or draining any blood from herself. Merely, she would pass from the sheer enormity of trepidation. Shakily, on still legs, she stood up with the book in her hand. The face of fear plastered on her, still after many minutes of thinking silently. Before exiting, she grabbed a chest box that was encased in filaments and dirt. Tardily going, the young professor left, her intentions unclear, but a decisive consequence was. 

Disclaimer: The sketches above are not ones I made! I found them online