Chapter Text
Lexi Howard,
By the time you read this note, the play will be over. So there's no point in me wishing you good luck. And you won't need it, in any case. I know you will soon understand that everything I've said is true. There is so much of you that the world needs to see. It's funny because the world doesn't deserve to see it but you're kind enough to share your talents with them.
You are the realest person I know. Is realest a word? Honestly I don't care. Because that's what I use to describe you. I see you and I know out of everyone, you are authentic (is that how you spell it?). I know you said once that the world is not a wish-granting factory, but for people like you, the universe is a little kinder.
I can't wait to see you perform. Imma let Ashtray spell check this before I put this in the envelope, though.
-your Fezco
P.S. I'm reading that book you like. The one set in the 1800s with a bunch of castles. I don't really like it so far (I mean, it's good, but the text is really tiny). But here is one quote that stood out to me: "Whatever our souls are made of, his and mine are the same." I'm starting to understand what that means.
The police officer who arrives at the battered house after the raid picks up the bloodstained note. Unsent words, laced with love, are placed in a bag labeled EVIDENCE.