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If you see me too much, you’re bound to tire of my sad snail stories, she had once typed to Roman. Impossible, he had replied. Iris
“If my words have bewitched your son, then know that his possess the same magic for me,” she said, reflexively touching her wedding band again.
DACRE SAVES HUNDREDS OF WOUNDED IN AVALON BLUFF by ROMAN C. KITT
Kitt is alive.
My name is Roman Carver Kitt, and this is a dead man’s story.
“You think everyone who is healed with his power forgets who they were?” He flicked his cigarette to the grass and crushed it beneath his boot before he turned away. “That’s the furthest thing from the truth, correspondent.”
No matter how many of us you turn … we’ll abandon you, eventually. When we remember.
It was ridiculous that he didn’t realize how much something meant to him until it was nearly taken. He
now he was desperate to hide them.
Dear Elizabeth, (Or should I call you E. now?) Your letter was almost discovered tonight by someone who would seek to come between us. I haven’t mentioned this yet, but you are my secret. I have kept you to myself; no one knows of you but me. No one knows of our connection and I want to keep it that way. We must be careful. —R.
Dear E., The problem is … I want to hear from you at all hours. I want to read your words. I am greedy for them. I am hungry for them.
“Yes. I’m your wife.”
a part of her still felt softened from his hand and his words, like the entire encounter had only been a reverie.
You prefer coffee, not tea. Although I saw you drink it enough times at the Gazette, and you only put in a spoonful of honey or sugar. No milk.
Should I be surprised that I was falling in love with you a second time?
how I love to lose to you. How I love to read your words and hear the thoughts that sharpen your mind. And how I would love to be on my knees before you now, surrendering to you and you alone.
But the moment I touched you, I remembered everything.
I was trying to find my way back to you.
If you agree to this, write me back. If you don’t agree, still write me back. I want to know your thoughts. I confess that I am hungry for your words. Love,
Write to me and fill my empty spaces. Love,
I would love to see your words catch fire with mine.
testament that I’m not fully mended. He healed me just enough to be of use to him, as if covering my wounds with a bandage, holding things together. To make me numb and to forget what brought me here. But now that I remember who I was before … it seems his magic has lost a few threads of its power. He has deceived me, as well as so many others, by making us believe we are whole and mended when he has intentionally left pieces of us broken so we remain close to his side. Submissive and obedient to what he wants.
“Tell me of Iris E. Winnow.”
(Note: I promise to scold you later. In person … as you’d like.)
Iris smiled and began to weave her way to him. Don’t. Roman nearly panicked, feeling his blood pound hot and fast. Don’t smile at me like that.
And then, because he was an utter fool for her, he bumped her foot beneath the table. That brought her gaze back to him. Keen and full of light, warm as embers.
He wouldn’t change a thing. Because if he could, would the two of them still be here, bound together by vow and trial and love that had crept up on him like ivy on stone?
There is no magic above or below that will ever steal this from me again.
Through the smoke, she could see some people coughing and crawling along the ground, but most of those around her were dead. Gripping the front of her dress, Iris looked up. She met Dacre’s fiery stare. He stood hale and whole amid the wreckage, blood dripping from his face, his clothes hanging from his powerful body in tatters.
How many words had she written on this typewriter, a loyal companion through lonely nights? How many ideas had it taken of hers, turning them into eternal ink on paper? How many poems and letters had her nan typed upon it, years before Iris was born? How many hours had it comforted Roman, an anchor for him in the darkest days of his captivity? It was immeasurable. Infinite. The magic still gathered, and it called to her.
“Write me a story where there is no ending, Kitt. Write to me and fill my empty spaces.”
“I betrayed you,” Roman began, “because I love her.”
“She represents all that is good in this realm, and your attack on Hawk Shire, simply put, threatened her.
You are the author of my wounds to begin with. I would have never breathed the gas that has scarred my lungs if not for you. I would have never felt the bite of shrapnel in my leg if not for you.
“And what a cruel and terrible thing it is, to be a divine with such power and magic, and yet find yourself so small-minded and afraid that you decide to live out your endless days harming others. Instead of letting us choose to love you for the good you could be, you have forced us to serve you by way of pain and terror. That is unforgivable, and a lesson you will have learned too late, when you lose this war against us. “You never saved me, like you claim. In the field of Avalon Bluff. You didn’t save me, but Iris did.”
“Oh, I would betray you a hundredfold,” he said, his voice rising. “I would betray you a thousandfold for her.”
