While I enjoy the title of pompous prince, I find I take more pleasure in seeing my name in your hand. I will endeavor to stay in your good graces, in hopes you will continue to write it as you have in your recent missive.
I must admit I did not expect you to reply with a secret. You detailed how little you trusted others, so I thought you were bound to refuse my offer. Yet you did not. As such, it seems I am burdened with the task of upholding my end of our bargain.
I am a man of my word, so here is a secret: My Gift is weakened in the presence of emotions. I have trained to bury mine so that I may remain clear and decisive.
Did you feel lighter upon confessing to me? I feel weightless, but in an apprehensive manner. As though I am suspended in the air and unsure of when I will fall back to the ground.
Yours,
Castien
Year 822, Week 37, Marina
My dearest Castien,
After your response, I can hardly deprive you of seeing your name written as you like. Thank you for sharing. I was anxiously floating in that same manner until I opened your letter. I hope my reply will do the same for you.
The burying of emotions is something I am well acquainted with. It is safer to deny myself the opportunity to feel than to succumb to the calamity that would follow.
To suppress is to be safely on land. To feel is to set sail upon the Heartless Tides. There is a certain longing to venture out onto the sea at times. I imagine this something Gifted wayfarers experience. A deep calling to reach out and grasp the shining horizon with bare hands.
There’s a rope that pulls me to the ledge of letting go. What kind of life is spent in one familiar place, after all? It’s as if my soul begs for variety in the face of contentment. And I deny it. Starve it until it is willowy, thin, and tattered.
Maybe one day the call of the sea will outweigh the comfort of the land. But until then, my emotions will be contained in the confines of parchment and ink. For this feels like dipping my toes in the water at the shoreline. Not safe, but not dangerous either.
We can walk along the beach together, if you like. Your secret is safe with me.
Sincerely,
Wren
Year 822, Week 37, Marina
My dearest Wren,
In all my years, I have yet to see such a feeling put to words the way that you did in your letter.
I would be honored to walk the shoreline with you, even if it is difficult for me to fully believe what you say. Trust is a luxury that even my title does not afford me. I am sure you can relate. But I will endeavor to indulge in it within these pages.
Perhaps instead of disclosing more secrets or delving into grief, we could share in the happier emotions together? I will go first.
When I was twelve years of age, Finn and I climbed the tallest tower in all the Lucent Enclave. It is called the Watchtower, and its purpose used to be to alert of approaching enemies. Now it is merely a place where young boys can get into mischief.
We were breathless and giddy by the time we reached the top. Each of us pretended we would throw the other off, laughing because we knew we never would.
I looked out over the Capitol–which is called Enlight, if you didn’t know–and there was this indescribable quickening in my chest. I recall wanting to run back down the stairs and out into the streets, but also wanting to plant my feet and never leave.
The setting sun painted the city in gold and orange. Not your favorite pink, but it was still beautiful. Even Finn grew quiet at the sight. And for a fleeting moment, I felt as though the weight of my crown was not so heavy.
A memory for a memory. I look forward to reading yours.
Fondly,
Castien
Year 822, Week 37, Delmara
My dearest Castien,
