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[letter five: hannibal (&, by association, will)]
I don’t know if I can face you again. Maybe it’s cheap of me to give you a letter like this, but I don’t know if I can talk to you anymore. It hurts.
Since we spoke in the dining car, I’ve been thinking a lot about everything that happened. All those times you were there for me. Everything you ever did to help me, and make me want to live. The fact that you kept all my secrets, at least as far as it mattered to me. Do you know why I started to suspect something was wrong about the things you’d said to me? It was because Felix told me the same thing after his trial. He told me to do what I had to to survive. It sounded so much like the things you had told me that I was really freaked out, for a while. I kept telling myself it was a coincidence, because you could never be like that.
I don’t understand you. And that’s my fault. I’ve barely known many people, and I haven’t been alive long at all compared to the rest of you. So maybe it really wasn’t fair of me to tell you that you didn’t care about me. I think you were telling the truth.
It’s so hard to figure it all out in my head. I’ve never met anyone like you before. I hope I never meet anyone like you ever again.
For a while, I actually wished you were my real family. The family I never had. Thinking about the times we talked makes me want to cry. I probably shouldn’t tell you that, because you might just find it funny. I don’t really know. But if you didn’t care about other people, you wouldn’t be so devoted to Will. I don’t know what you did to him, but you definitely care about him. That much is obvious. So maybe you cared about me, too.
I loved you for everything that you were to me. And in the end, I really am grateful for what you said. I don’t know if I would have decided to live my own life without your help, but the fact is that you did help me, and here I am. But I loved you for who I thought you were, and who I thought you were was never real.
Did I ever tell you I have the ability to travel between worlds? I can’t remember if I did. But it’s one of my powers. Once this is all over, I’ll be able to go anywhere I want, for real. I don’t think I want to find your world. The chances that I might end up there without already knowing where it is are pretty slim. But there was something I wanted to tell you that I think you might appreciate.
If I ever found your world, and if I ever found you and Will again, I’d kill both of you with my bare hands. That’s a promise, Hannibal. Maybe then I’d finally understand what it was like to have blood on my hands.
Please take care of yourself. In a weird way, I still want you to be happy. Will, too. Though, at the same time, it scares me to think about what happiness might mean for you.
I’ll never, ever forget you.
-Xion
PS: Will, I'm sorry.
Since we spoke in the dining car, I’ve been thinking a lot about everything that happened. All those times you were there for me. Everything you ever did to help me, and make me want to live. The fact that you kept all my secrets, at least as far as it mattered to me. Do you know why I started to suspect something was wrong about the things you’d said to me? It was because Felix told me the same thing after his trial. He told me to do what I had to to survive. It sounded so much like the things you had told me that I was really freaked out, for a while. I kept telling myself it was a coincidence, because you could never be like that.
I don’t understand you. And that’s my fault. I’ve barely known many people, and I haven’t been alive long at all compared to the rest of you. So maybe it really wasn’t fair of me to tell you that you didn’t care about me. I think you were telling the truth.
It’s so hard to figure it all out in my head. I’ve never met anyone like you before. I hope I never meet anyone like you ever again.
For a while, I actually wished you were my real family. The family I never had. Thinking about the times we talked makes me want to cry. I probably shouldn’t tell you that, because you might just find it funny. I don’t really know. But if you didn’t care about other people, you wouldn’t be so devoted to Will. I don’t know what you did to him, but you definitely care about him. That much is obvious. So maybe you cared about me, too.
I loved you for everything that you were to me. And in the end, I really am grateful for what you said. I don’t know if I would have decided to live my own life without your help, but the fact is that you did help me, and here I am. But I loved you for who I thought you were, and who I thought you were was never real.
Did I ever tell you I have the ability to travel between worlds? I can’t remember if I did. But it’s one of my powers. Once this is all over, I’ll be able to go anywhere I want, for real. I don’t think I want to find your world. The chances that I might end up there without already knowing where it is are pretty slim. But there was something I wanted to tell you that I think you might appreciate.
If I ever found your world, and if I ever found you and Will again, I’d kill both of you with my bare hands. That’s a promise, Hannibal. Maybe then I’d finally understand what it was like to have blood on my hands.
Please take care of yourself. In a weird way, I still want you to be happy. Will, too. Though, at the same time, it scares me to think about what happiness might mean for you.
I’ll never, ever forget you.
-Xion
PS: Will, I'm sorry.
no subject
Dear Xion,
First, I would like to thank you for writing to me. It may be cowardly to not have said so in person, but I do understand why a letter would be preferred. However, I hardly mind, since in truth, the art of letter writing is one often forgotten. While I prefer speaking face to face, I've also grown quite used to writing letters over the past few years. So my thanks for your correspondence is quite sincere.
It is at least my impression that you imagine this as a story, unintentionally or otherwise. In the story of yourself, this is your struggle, your triumph, and I am the villain, the evil to be overcome. You are not the first to think of me in such a way. You will not be the last. We look through the lens of art to put our own lives into context, and so we orient ourselves upon the stage, always acting where we are the protagonist of our own lives. So, in that sense, perhaps it is not an invalid view. Yet in another, your stage intersects with countless others, including the ones where the play is muddled. Upon one stage, we may act out a tragedy. On another, a comedy. Unfortunately, life is not so easy as art where it may be firmly one or another.
Yet I do not point this out to claim that our situation is particularly one or the other. Only to illustrate that nothing is ever absolutes. If it were, you would not find yourself so conflicted over who I am. And in this, I can at least offer some comfort, as your lack of understanding is nothing new. My peers have attempted to find words to describe me, but all of these words are ultimately shallow and incomplete. Perhaps there is no one like me, or perhaps there is simply not a word to describe who I am. Personally, I believe it is the latter, as there is one person who has understood. Some stumble close, but knowing me requires far more than most people want to give. I in fact posed the question to Percy before he knew who I was. What do you call a person who does terrible things, but who you do not understand?
His response was "a monster."
Would you agree? Or would you have reservations about the word because of the care I gave you? In the easy, trite story, this care is only manipulation. But in the more complex one, it is not. I am glad you at least realize that the care is genuine, as I would not bother otherwise. In another telling of this tale where events were oriented only slightly differently, perhaps you may have been like a daughter to me. But in this one, you can never be. Not because you believe you have seen me for who I am, but because you have not yet seen yourself. That is why you cannot reconcile who you believed me to be with who I truly am. When you understand why these are not mutually exclusive, you will know not me, but yourself. I turn to another's words as I imagine your brow furrowing, as I know it is not easy to understand, especially as you struggle with the novelty of emotion.
"Beware that, when fighting monsters, you yourself do not become a monster. For when you gaze long into the abyss, the abyss gazes also into you."
So I accept your sentiments, not with appreciation, but with inevitability. We may never meet again, but if you are sincere, then eventually, someone will know you as I have. There was always capacity for you to be the one to take my life rather than Natalie, but she is the one that had a Becoming. One day, yours will come too. When that moment comes, I hope that you will remember this letter. You will deny it now, I am certain. But eventually, you will understand why I extended my care and my lessons, even if they are ones hard-learned. One day, in another's play, you will not stand as the protagonist. You will understand why tragedy and comedy coexist so easily.
Be well, and live a life free of worry. You will be far happier for it.
Sincerely,