Akrasia

Chapter 4: Opprobrium

The door clicks shut behind her, and Drift slides a finger underneath the wax seal. As much as it frustrates her that Aimée keeps insisting on paying for things on her behalf, she must admit that she would not want to have to keep paying the steep postage for these. If she's going to write to her this much, then yeah, maybe she should pay for it. She shakes her head and unfolds the letter, settling herself into the chair as she reads.

My darling Drift,

As long as I know you are safe, I shall keep my promise. But my, such a cold response! Has your heart died again already? No matter, I shall offer you mine, for it yearns to be yours regardless.

Indeed, my words shall not be stayed. You are my intended, and any wrong against you is a wrong against me. I understand that you consider these to be your friends, and it is by this merit alone that I do not act already. But I will not be made to act as if they have not hurt you, nor that they have my favour.

If prying eyes fall to my letters, then I declare it proudly: any harm to you I shall return tenfold. This includes the harm already done. I believe it no coincidence I was born bearing the name that I do. I do trust you are familiar with Serbian myth? Regardless of its truth, I shall wield my namesake for you. It sickens me to leave you in his company.

If truly you are amongst friends, this declaration should be of no concern—they should endeavour to take care of you in my absence, and atone for their past wrongs. But if they do not, I do not fear the company you keep, and my arrival shall be swift and sure.

If still my words unease you, then I beg you return to me, for you cannot be with friends if they do not understand this. I beg it regardless, for I am bereft without you. It has been but a matter of days, and yet I feel as though it has been years. The wait for your response shall feel an eternity.

Yours eternally,
A. Hawthorne

She sighs, and sets it down on the desk. "I mean..." she sighs again, and puts her head in her hands, fingers massaging her brow. Then she shakes her head, and looks down at it again. "The problem is, she's not wrong. But..."

The latch of her door unhooks, and it swings open. "Are you going to burn this one, too?" Shelby's voice comes from behind her.

Drift twists around in her chair. "Shelby?! Wait, I—what?"

Shelby leans against the door, nose wrinkled, brows knitted together. "When you explained earlier I thought I had just misheard through the door the first time, but you definitely said 'she' just now. Who are these letters really from, Drift? Why would you lie to me?"

Drift stares at her. "I... didn't lie to you, Aimée is the one writing to me."

Shelby sneers at her. "And 'he's' an 'eccentric gentleman'?"

"Well he—he is, I..." Drift stammers, then her face darkens, a deep furrow setting into her brow. "It's—it's not my place to reveal the deepest secrets of my friends! And what do you mean you've been listening at my door, what the hell Shelby?" her voice beginning to rise in volume, and herself to her feet.

"Well what else was I supposed to do!?" Shelby shouts back, throwing her hands up. "You've been acting so weird ever since you got here! I'm worried about you, Drift!"

"That doesn't give you the right to invade my privacy!" Drift yells, one hand white knuckling the carved back of the chair, the other bunched up into a fist at her side.

"Then talk to me, Drift!" Shelby's voice wavers, tears prickling in the corner of her eyes. "What's going on? Why are you hiding things? What's the real reason you're not coming with us anymore?" she pleads, wiping her eyes and stepping closer with each question. "What happened after you left us? Who is Aimée Hawthorne to you?"

Drift looks away, the heat in her extinguished by the waves of nauseous guilt each questions barrels her with. "I—I don't know how to answer that, Shelby. It's complicated."

Shelby's face twists, her lip curling back and red dotting the corners of her eyes again. "At least try instead of running away from the conversation all the time!"

Drift swallows, her throat beginning to burn. "I'm not... I..."

Shelby sighs, and sits herself on the chest at the foot of the bed, wiping her eyes again. "Then let's start with who the hell this Aimée really is."

Drift glances at Shelby, her heart lurching when she sees her face. "...I." She licks her lips, mouth feeling incredibly dry. "I already told you. I was being truthful, she's a friend and someone I confer with on cases." She sighs and shakes her head, sinking back into the seat. "She's... also a woman living as a man, and now you are one of the very select few to know this truth."

Shelby studies her silently for a moment. "And does she know the truth about you?"

Drift meets her gaze, then nods. "She does."

"Mm." Shelby looks down at her hands, her fingers rolling and twisting the furbelowed ruffles adorning her sleeves. "And are you two... intimate?"

Drift laughs. "We're not sweethearts, Shelby."

Shelby's face snaps up, fixing her with a sharp glare. "That's not what I asked."

Drift smiles at her. "It's what you meant. Our relationship is... complicated. But we are not sweethearts."

"Complicated how, Drift?" Shelby's voice rises again in frustration. "You keep saying that. But if you were just intimate friends, I don't think you'd be so ashamed to talk about it! What are you not telling me?"

"Fine, alright—she's a murderer! Okay!" Drift shouts, her teeth flashing involuntarily. Shelby's eyes go wide, and Drift cannot look at her, turning her head to stare instead at the writings in front of her. "She's the Orchid Killer I was trying to catch." She mutters. "But she figured me out before I could confront her and now I don't know what we have, but I do know that I am a coward and I do nothing to fight it."

"Fight it?" Shelby murmurs. "What do you mean? Has she been forcing herself on you?"

Drift laughs dryly, bringing her eyes to her again and shaking her head. "I'm several times stronger than she is, Shelby."

Shelby's eyes narrow. "That doesn't mean she can't coerce you into things. Is that what she's been doing?"

Drift's stomach twists. "No—not... exactly. I... it's just, our relationship is built on mutual blackmail." She swallows, her gaze falling to her lap. "I know her secrets, she knows mine. I can never close this case, because if I do, she will out me in turn."

"Oh..." Shelby whispers. "Why don't you just... come with us then?" there's an undeniable hopeful note to her quiet voice as she says this that makes Drift feel like throwing up. "If you're not there anymore it doesn't matter who knows. You can close the case and leave that place behind."

She swallows again. "It's... it's not that simple, Shelby. And, besides." She chuckles, looking up at her with a lopsided smile. "The reason to close the case is to prevent more lives being lost, and I am already doing that."

Shelby frowns. "What do you mean?"

"She's... sweet on me." Drift says, her brows twitching as she does. "I keep her entertained, and she behaves. She kills more to get my attention than anything else, these days."

"Oh, Drift." Shelby exclaims, her voice thick with dismay.

Drift jerks her gaze away from her, fixing her eyes on the wall. "I-I know I shouldn't—she's a murderer." She stammers, then mutters bitterly. "Some detective I am, consorting with her and covering her tracks."

"Drift, she's literally pressuring you." Shelby admonishes softly.

Hot bile floods Drift's mouth, and she swallows it back, her throat raw and burning. "She... she isn't..."

Shelby's face flickers equal parts dumbfounded and sympathetic. "What part of 'do this or I'll kill people' isn't pressuring you?"

The part where I want to do it. The words swirl in her mind and her throat closes shut, unable to speak, shame twisting and coiling in her chest.

"Did she... make you do something before you came here?" Shelby asks, voice soft.

Words continue to fail her, and before she can think to stop herself, her hand goes to her wrist and her thumb brushes against the raised mark beneath her sleeves. She feels the briefest flicker of relief at it still being there, followed by an intense wash of nauseous guilt that she felt it at all. She shouldn't want this.

Shelby's eyes track the movement and they come over, crouching before her and taking her hands in theirs, a strange echo of Aimée's gentle touch that makes her heart twist and her eyes sting. Their thumb brushes soothingly over the hand Drift grasps her wrist with, and they look at her with a gaze awash with pity and concern. "May I look?"

Drift's grip tightens. She wants to throw up. She wants to run far, far away. She wants to crawl under the bed and curl up as small as she can make herself. To find a hole somewhere and sink into it. These are not the gentle touches she wants, a thought that makes her need to swallow back the acid rising in her throat. She should want this, she should want Shelby's shy, sweet kisses and kind heart. Hands that have only ever killed out of necessity, hands that held her in the darkness. And she does, she does want her. She can no longer imagine a life without Shelby in it, their eternities forever intertwined.

But—But—But—It isn't the same. Shelby does not want her like Aimée does. Shelby's gentle hands would never desire her so intensely as to mark her the way Aimée has. She doesn't want them to see it, knows they won't understand. But what else can she do? Her shame is branded on her skin, and they already know it's there now. Perhaps this is her punishment for indulging in these desires. She's only avoiding the judgement she has earned. She removes her hand from her wrist.

"Oh my god." Shelby says in a horrified whisper, and glances at Drift's desk. "She—that's why the letters were sealed in wax. Oh my god." She takes Drift's face gently into her hands, wiping the tears that have begun to spill out of her eyes. "Drift, I'm so sorry."

"I-it's fine." Drift stammers out of her tight, raspy throat.

Pity twists onto Shelby's face, their brows curling inwards and their eyes awash with sadness, thumbs stroking her damp cheeks. "No Drift, it's not fine, you shouldn't have to... to let yourself be treated like an animal for the sake of others. I'll talk to Scott, we'll figure out a way to handle Aimée—"

Drift's hands fly out and desperately grip Shelby's shoulders, her body feeling as if it has suddenly plunged into an ice cold lake. "No, no no no you can't tell Scott anything, Shelby, please. I—I.... it isn't like that."

"But Drift—"

Her useless breathing catches raggedly in her throat. "I don't—I don't—I don't want to lose her Shelby. I can't—she's... don't tell him. Please."

Shelby's hands squeeze her face, and they lean in closer, eyes begging. "We can help you though, Drift."

Drift pulls her head out of Shelby's grasp and shakes it, over and over. "I don't need help, Shelby. You don't understand, it's not—I don't want that. She's..." her arms wrap around herself and she stares into her lap, her voice shrinking just as much as she does. "We've never done anything I didn't want to do."

Shelby's hands hover awkwardly in the air between them, confusion etching into her face. "But... she's threatening you, Drift."

She glances up at her. "Doesn't need to." She mutters. "It's an excuse. I'm sorry, I know I shouldn't, I'm sorry."

Shelby stares at her, a flurry of expressions crossing her face, mouth opening to say something and then hesitating. Drift can hardly blame her, it would be better if she was being forced. Shelby's hand comes to rest on her knee, her thumb making gentle motions. "You wanted the seal?"

Shame wracks through her again, and her eyes fall back to her lap. "Mm." She nods, unable to look up.

"Could you have said no, if you didn't?" Shelby asks, voice soft.

"Mm."

Shelby is silent again. Drift swallows back another surge of bile.

"Has she ever made you do something you didn't want to?"

Drift's head shakes. "No, not... not really."

"Not really?" Shelby's voice darkens, and the hand on her knee tightens.

"I was starving myself. She made me eat." There's a cold matter-of-factness to how Drift says this, a coldness mirrored in the thick, icy chill that slides down her spine at admitting this to Shelby. She had been so careful not to let slip her eating habits to either of them, but what's another sin to the list of confessions at this point? She may as well bring it all up like the bile in her throat.

And as she expected, Shelby's eyes go wide with horror. "You were starving yourself!?"

Drift can't look at her, vision blurring red as a surge of tears wells up in her eyes. She stares at the wall instead, arms wrapping tighter around herself, and in a choked whisper she says. "Sorry."

"No, no, Drift, it's—it's okay." She soothes. "I... want to understand."

Drift laughs mirthlessly. "There's not much to understand. I forgo my morals under the guise of being forced into it so I can continue to pretend to be principled, when in reality I'm a vile hypocrite, a coward with no backbone."

"Drift!" Shelby exclaims, dismayed. "Don't... don't talk about yourself like that, is that how she talks about you?"

Another hollow laugh. "No. I can do no wrong in her eyes."

When Shelby says nothing further, Drift peeks a glance at her. She's chewing her lip, her brow deeply furrowed. She looks over at the desk, eyes narrowing and darting about as the gears turn in her head. "Which... morals are you talking about, Drift?"

Drift's own brow twists. "She's a murderer. It's my job—my responsibility—to apprehend her, not kiss her."

Shelby looks at her, her head tilting to the side. "So am I, Drift." She says, slowly. "Do you feel this way about me, too?"

"No!" Drift exclaims, hands unlatching from her sides in shock. "That's different, you were—you didn't have a choice."

Shelby laughs and shakes her head. "Oh, no, I did. I struck first and he begged me and I let my anger rule me and relished in it. There was always a choice, and I chose to kill him."

Uncertainty washes through her, an anxious stutter kicking into her heart. "But you don't... you didn't do it for the thrill."

Shelby's eyes flick away from hers. "I... the..." she pauses for a moment, lips pressed tightly together as she considers her words. "I couldn't even begin to describe the... the rush I felt in that moment, letting the anger and bloodlust rule me. I'd run it through my mind the entire day—over and over and over I imagined stabbing him through the chest and what it would feel like to make him beg for his life. And then he was there and I was so angry, so eager, I didn't even process I didn't have my claws—I didn't need them. I just beat him and beat him until he couldn't move." She laughs, bitter, her eyes meeting Drift's again. "I crave it sometimes, the complete lack of inhibition, the absolute power. And then I kill animal after animal until I'm satisfied, staring into their eyes and snapping their necks, pretending it's just hunting, just a necessity so I don't starve. If you want to talk about hypocrisy, Drift, there's none worse than me."

"It's still..." she digs the nail of one thumb into the bed of the other, pulsing the pressure restlessly. "You have to eat, Shelby. And Pyro, he..." she shakes her head. "It's just not the same."

Shelby sighs. "Maybe it's not. But the blood is on my hands, and I enjoyed it all the same."

Drift stares at her, then her eyes fall to her lap. She presses her nail in harder, the sensitive skin stinging with each push. After spending so much time here, there's enough blood in her system for her finger tips to have developed a rosy hue, and she watches it retreat away to the usual shocking white as she digs in, then slowly, slowly return to pink as she eases the pressure, again and again.

"...I want to kill her." Drift murmurs, breaking the silence. "Or—I—I don't! I really don't." Drift exclaims, eyes wide and darting, scrambling over her words with her hands flying out in front of her face as if to ward off the possibility. "I... I just, see her and I want her so terribly it makes me sick." Her hands lower back into her lap. "She's so alive, nothing else tastes like she does, and when I have her there beneath my teeth it takes... it takes everything in me to stop myself from, from tearing her open to feel her heart stop beating in my hands." Fists form in her lap as she says this, a tremble setting in to her arms. "I don't know when I'll lose control. There's some sick, horrible thing in me that derives pleasure from tempting fate like this, from the way she... I keep going back and I keep drinking and I know one day I won't be able to stop myself from going too far. And yet, knowing that, I still..."

"Well." Shelby says, taking her hands in theirs. "If you did, would that be so bad?"

Drift's eyes snap to Shelby, dumbstruck. "What? Yes, of course it would! What are you saying, Shelby?"

"I mean." Shelby smiles, a small, sad thing, her voice barely above a whisper. "I wish I could have been turned by somebody who loved me."

"I... I can't... turn her!" Drift stammers, eyes huge and her brows twisted together. "That would be insane! She's dangerous enough without the ability to turn invisible and fly away and shrug off cyanide to no effect!"

Shelby blinks. "Wait what, we're immune to cyanide? Why do you know that?"

"...Not important." Drift looks away, cheeks flushed, then her brain catches up with her, and she snaps back to Shelby "Wait—who said anything about love!?"

Shelby gives her a pointed look.

"I am not in love with Aimée Hawthorne." Drift huffs, crossing her arms, heat rising to her face.

Shelby grins, and places a finger to their cheek. "I dunnooo, you just told me how much you want her and to hold her heart~!"

Drift scowls at her. "Her literal heart. Her literal, physical heart after I lose control and kill her in a fit of visceral bloodlust." Her hands come out to make a vague aggressive, claw like gesture in front of her. "Visceral being the key word here because I am talking about her literal viscera."

"Yet you said her heart specifically." Shelby lilts. "Pret-ty romantic, if you ask me!"

Drift makes an irritated grumble with her throat. "That's because her heart is what—oh, nevermind. More importantly, I can't turn her."

"Mmm, well." Shelby props her elbows onto Drift's knees, and rests her chin in her hands, a mischievous smile on her face. "If you're scared of killing her and won't turn her, then we can take care of her for you and you can come with us instead."

Drift's eyes go wide. "What? No—"

"Why not?" Shelby blinks at her slowly and deliberately, smile replaced with the picture of innocent confusion. "If you're not in love with her and spending time with her is a risk, then she's just a dangerous temptation and you'd be better off spending that time with us, right?"

Drift scowls at them. She knows what they're doing, but Shelby is right, she should really put distance between them and remove the risk altogether—but she... just can't do that. "I'm not in love with her just because I enjoy her company and don't want to lose it, Shelby."

Shelby tilts her head and looks up at her with big, glossy eyes through long, white lashes, and bats them prettily. "More than my company?"

Heat floods Drift's face and she laughs, shoving Shelby out of her lap. "Shut up! Obviously that's not—I don't like her company more than yours just because I don't want to lose hers!"

Shelby catches herself on the desk, and then pushes herself to her feet, a smile Drift can't quite parse on her face. She sits back down on the chest, one leg crossing over the other and her elbow on top of that to rest her chin in her hand. "I don't know, Drift. It was nice, earlier. I've... never kissed anyone before." She turns her gaze to the side and begins to study the woodgrain of the bed's posters. "It was nice." She repeats softly. "I think I could enjoy a life of lazy strolls and quiet kisses with you."

"Oh, Shelby." Her heart twists painfully in her chest. The way she says it, she... "That's—"

"However." Shelby's eyes snap to Drift's as they cut her off. "I don't... I've read a lot of romance, Drift. I liked it, but it wasn't anything like that."

Drift frowns. "Well, I mean, books are books Shelby—real emotions aren't as simple and easy to understand as the ones in stories."

Shelby smiles that same smile again, a look that isn't quite sadness in her eyes. It's... gentle? She can't figure it out. "Maybe. But there was no want in that kiss. I... don't think I have it in me, and I know I don't stir it in you either—not like Aimée does."

Ah. "Shelby... I want Aimée like a predator wants its prey, that's not... That doesn't mean I don't want you. I can't imagine my eternity without you."

Shelby's eyes stare straight into hers, intense and challenging. "Would you really want her any less if she were as dead as either of us, Drift?"

"I..." her denial dies in her throat. She shouldn't, her want for her should melt away as the predatory drive does. But memories of gentle, consoling touches and devoted eyes flicker into her mind. A single memory of soft linens, waking beside her, content in a way she's never felt before—or since. Of soft afternoons just spent quietly in her study, a new case in her lap, making idle chatter as they each attend to their own work. Her throat burns with acid.

Shelby nods. "Right, exactly."

She swallows. "...I do want you though, Shelby." She murmurs, voice raw again. "I-I was, holding myself back earlier—you seemed nervous so I didn't want to do anything that would overwhelm you. I'm sorry if I gave you a different impression as a result. I've been drawn to you since the day we met, Shelby, and I've wondered about the taste of your lips for just as long. I mean it when I say I can't imagine my eternity without you."

Shelby's eyes go wide, her face turns a vibrant shade of pink, and she coughs suddenly into her hand. "Well! I. Ahem." She gazes around the room, looking at everything except Drift, then closes her eyes and inhales deeply, opening them again to meet Drift's. "Mmm. Well, you can want more than one person, Drift."

She sighs. "I mean, obviously that's true. I agree, that's what I'm saying—I don't... protest the existence of the want, merely that my wanting of her means I do not want you, or that it's love, and..." nausea pulls through her body again. "And I shouldn't want her, anyway. This whole conversation is ridiculous because I shouldn't even be wanting her at all!" her voice begins to rise with a hysterical edge, her hands finding one another and her nails digging into her skin hard. "I should just come with you and Scott and never see her again! But I—" her voice strangles in her throat, and drops to a weak whisper. "I'm just too weak."

Shelby frowns, her hands falling to the sides of the chest and her legs uncrossing. "That's... not a very nice way to talk about yourself, Drift."

She huffs. "Well it's true. I know what the right thing to do is, and I can't do it."

Shelby exhales, and her nose wrinkles, her jaw flexing. "The right thing to do, huh. You know, Drift, the church would have us believe the right thing to do is run ourselves through with a stake, and setting that aside that we should each be wedded to a man. I don't know about you, but I don't really seek either option with great eagerness."

"That doesn't change that she's a murderer and a danger to society—"

"Drift." Shelby says, voice sharp and stern. "You are under the roof of two murderers, and we are all a danger to society by our very existence."

"Two ex-murderers." Drift mutters.

Shelby sighs, her legs crossing again and her chin returning to its rest in her palm. "And you said that she has stopped for you, right?"

"Well—n—it's not that simple, I..." Drift blusters and trails off. "We... made a deal before I left so she would behave herself. But it's not like she's ever agreed to stop! Not entirely."

"Drift, you're splitting hairs!" Shelby shouts, head leaving her hand as they move to make an exasperated gesture at her. "We've been talking around in circles for god knows how long now, and what I've pieced together is the reason you've been shutting me out is some sort of, of shame over wanting her, and yet every single reason you've given for this shame is something you could say about me!" she rises to her feet and fixes Drift with an intense, challenging glare. "What makes me so different from her? Really, truly—I am a murderer, I have professed to you my lingering bloodlust, neither of us are men! If you forgive these in me, then why not her? How are we different?"

Drift stares up at her, eyes wide, then flicks her gaze down to the desk, and then into her lap. "I... I can't kill you."

Shelby straightens and rolls back her shoulders, exhaling heavily through her nose. "And I ask you again, would that be so bad?" she shakes her head and sighs, deep and heavy. "Honestly if I could have chosen a person to be turned by, logistics aside, I'd be hard pressed to find a better choice than you, Drift."

An agonised expression twists onto Drift's face as she looks back up at Shelby. "But she's—"

"—A murderer, like me, who you seem to trust enough to have left to her own devices and come here."

Drift swallows. "...Maybe that was unwise."

"Maybe. I couldn't say—because you've been keeping all of this a secret from me," she glares at Drift as she says this, but her tone is light and exasperated, her head shaking. "What I will say though is this—you're literally a dead woman walking, Drift. So live a little, and then tell me about it, because I'm your friend." She drops back down unceremoniously onto the chest, the thick ruffled layers of her sleeves and skirt punctuating it with an audible fwump. "And because I'm nosy. I can't believe you've been secret sweethearts with a serial killer for months and you've kept that from me!"

"We're—she is not my sweetheart!" Drift protests, baffled by the sudden levity.

Shelby's eyes twinkle as a sly smile spreads onto her face. "But she's sweet on you, right?"

"I—yes, but—" Drift stammers back.

"And you're sweet on her. Ergo, sweethearts!" Shelby says with a triumphant clap of her hands.

"I am not sweet on Aimée!" Drift exclaims, her face beginning to feel incredibly hot.

Shelby's face drops into an unamused stare. "Drift."

Drift scowls at her and crosses her arms. "I'm not."

"Drift."

"I'm not!"

Shelby's eyebrow quirks up. "You've been crying about the idea of killing her and talking about wanting her so bad you dream of holding her heart in your hands."

Drift's heart pounds loudly in her ears. "I—that's not what I said. I did not say that."

"You kind of did." Shelby teases, a grin spreading onto her face.

"No I—ugh." She buries her face in her hands and groans. "Whatever. Whatever! Fine. Yes, I am fond of her. But she is not my sweetheart."

"Well then ask her to be." Shelby says, rolling her eyes.

Drift lifts her face out of her hands and her lip curls back. "God no, she asks me to marry her every other conversation."

"She what!?" Shelby shrieks.

"W—I said she's sweet on me!"

Shelby's hands fly to her face, a look of pure elation dancing in her eyes. "Oh my god, Drift. I can not believe you've been keeping this from me."

Drift glares at her. "I'm not going to accept!"

"Oh Drift, come on." Shelby glares back.

"I could never marry a man, Shelby, even if it's just pretend!" she huffs, arms crossing. "I have a reputation to uphold."

"Well what if it was in secret?" Shelby asks, tilting her head.

"No." Drift mutters grumpily. "I am to be an eternal spinster until I turn to dust."

"Mmm, what if one day women could marry each other?" Shelby says, tapping a finger to her chin. "We have eternity ahead of us, after all. Anything could happen."

Drift laughs, and looks at Shelby skeptically. "I'm sure that by the time that comes to pass, if I've made the dreadful mistake of granting eternity to Aimée I'll have been driven mad and staked myself already."

Shelby's eyes crinkle, her face lighting up with a wide cheshire grin. "That's not a no, Drift."

"Well it isn't a yes." Drift huffs, turning her face away from Shelby's self satisfied gaze.

"What else have you been keeping secret from me Drifty?" Shelby probes, her voice dancing with delight. "How did you two meet? I'm not leaving until you tell me everything!"

Drift sighs and shakes her head, a small smile creeping onto her face. "Fine, fine." She sets her head into her hand, and hums to herself, casting her mind back. "I mean, we met when I was still human. I was investigating people related to the killings, particularly interested in meeting with individuals with gardens of their own..."

Mr. Hawthorne

It seems you shall get your wish, for I will be returning sooner than anticipated. Do not worry, I am perfectly well, my return has little to do with your writings—but, by the time you receive this letter, I will already be on my way.
I have some things I would like to discuss with you.

Be with you shortly,
Drift

A bold little chaffinch hops about on Aimée's windowsill, chirping sweetly and scouring for seeds. Aimée's eyes lift from the letter and watch its vain search, having set no such thing upon her sill, and she smiles at it. "Something to discuss, huh? What do you think it might be, little guy?"

The bird pays her no mind, lost in its search, and then disappears in a flurry of feathers. Aimée folds the letter back up neatly, turning around and placing it gently into the top drawer of her desk. She returns to her seat, and gazes up at her door, a smile creeping onto her face. She turns her attention to her less exciting correspondence, and hums to herself absently.