You’re probably thinking: but they CAN’T escape, the binding holds them. And yes, at first. But the binding loosens as you learn control. It fades as you grow. By now—however long it’s been—I’d wager there’s barely a thread left. Whatever’s keeping them close isn’t magic anymore.
It’s choice.
Cassie’s hands were trembling so badly she almost couldn’t read the next part.
I never told anyone this while I was alive, but I had a binding once. His name was Thomas. Gruff, practical, entirely too handsome for his own good. He appeared in my garden one morning becauseI’d been trying to spell my roses and accidentally summoned a groundskeeper.
We had three months together. Three months of bickering and laughter and the kind of connection I’d never felt before. The binding loosened quickly—I was always a fast learner—but he stayed anyway. Said he liked my chaos. Said I was worth the inconvenience.
And I pushed him away.
I was so certain he’d leave eventually—so certain that no one could actually choose me, with all my mess and magic and too-much-ness—that I made the choice for him. Broke the binding before it could dissolve naturally. Told him he was free and watched him walk away.
He would have stayed, Cassie. I know that now. I’ve had sixty years to know it. Sixty years of wondering what might have been if I’d been brave enough to let someone love me.
Don’t be like me.
Don’t spend your life alone because you’re afraid to let someone see you fully. Don’t push away the good things because you’ve decided you don’t deserve them. Don’t break bindings that are already breaking just so you can control the ending.
Let it dissolve on its own. Let him choose. Let yourself be chosen.
And if he stays—and I think he will, if he’s anything like my Thomas—try to believe it’s real. Even when it’s terrifying. Especially when it’s terrifying.
You are not too much, my darling. You are exactly enough. You always have been.
With all my love across the veil, Aunt Elspeth
P.S. - The cat is going to have opinions about all of this. She usually does. Try to listen—familiars see more than they let on.
P.P.S. - I left you my silver spoon for a reason. It’s not just for spells. Sometimes a woman needs to eat ice cream directly from the container at 2 a.m. while crying over her choices. The spoon doesn’t judge.
Cassie sat in her circle of guttered candles, clutching a letter from a dead woman, and sobbed.
Not pretty crying. Not delicate tears rolling down her cheeks. Full-body, snot-everywhere, can’t-breathe sobbing that shook her whole frame and made Luna hop onto her lap and press her small warm body against Cassie’s chest.
“She was lonely,” Luna said quietly. “Sixty years. I wasn’t there for most of it, but I saw the end. She didn’t want that for you.”
“I’ve been so stupid.”
“Yes.”
“I pushed him away. Over and over. Because I was scared.”
“Yes.”
“And now—” She looked at the letter again, at the words that could have been written about her own life. “—now I’m doing exactly what she did. Breaking things before they can break me.”
“The spell didn’t complete,” Luna pointed out. “The letter interrupted it. The binding is still there.”
Hope flickered. Tiny and fragile, but real.
“So he’s still?—”
“Still connected. Still here.” Luna’s golden eyes met hers. “The question is: what are you going to do about it?”
Cassie wiped her face with her sleeve—gross, but she was beyond caring—and stood on shaky legs. The house was dark, quiet. It was after midnight now.
“I’m going to talk to him,” she said. “Really talk. Not push, not deflect, not set anything on fire. Just… tell him the truth.”
