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Rue has set out everything that they need: a quill, parchment, refreshments. A candle in case it gets dark, though it shouldn’t for a while yet.
“You’re stalling,” they chide themselves aloud, and sit down reluctantly. It is a curious thing, to want to send a letter but to be so fearful of writing it that they have procrastinated starting for hours. It took Wuvvy promising to take care of the evening plans and all but forcing them to return to their quarters to even get this far.
“Alright,” Rue says. “Alright. I can do this.” It’s possible that Binx’s habit of vocalizing self-encouragement aloud is rubbing off on them. If you can reveal your true self to every fey attending the Bloom, including him, then you can certainly write a letter, they reason, and so they begin:
To Captain K.P. Hob:
Yesterday, Lady Chirp Featherfowl asked me if – since it very well may be the last Bloom we ever celebrate – I would consider accepting a proposal this year, instead of rejecting them as I have always done in the past. It is a pattern of mine, this is true, but in my defense, no flowery words, fine trinkets, or offers of marriage have ever made me feel the way you do with a mere glance.
All my life, I have felt like a mirror, reflecting back to others what they wish to see and hear. You shattered me the night of the Great Hart Hunt, pierced through my walls and looked beyond my glamour like a sword of sunlight shining on my stained glass heart, lighting up the sanctum of my soul.
Yes, that is how you make me feel when your eyes widen at my presence alone – radiant, resplendent, effulgent. Prismatic, like you see the layers beneath what I project, like you might stay to learn each and every one of my facets. Beneath your searing gaze, I feel as if the Bloom’s coveted Crystal Heart actually resides in my chest; when my entrance at the tea party made you trip over yourself, I felt truly beautiful, desirable even in a form I have been deeply reluctant to reveal to others.
Still, in all honesty, I also feel as though at any moment, I may crack and fracture into a thousand pieces. You insist that I am brave, but writing this is terrifyingly, horrifically vulnerable, like I am reaching into my own chest and plucking my heart out for your perusal. That is how I feel when I see you – like you have my heart in your hands with the entire Bloom as your audience, all of them watching as it beats to the unmistakable rhythm of your name.
But that is enough of my maundering prolixity. You have often said that you are a man of actions more than a man of words, and so in lieu of sending a letter back to me, I ask instead – as long as it is amenable to you – for a response that is physical rather than written.
Inside the envelope that held this letter, I have enclosed a small, cordate pin. If you do not feel the same way that I do, or you do not wish to pursue a romantic relationship, then crush it to bits, and through the pin’s magic, I will sense it and know what you have decided. But if you would have me – if you are willing to try – then I request that you attach it to your greatcoat. This, too, I will sense, and my heart will quite literally be on your sleeve. I place it in your hands, Captain Hob. Do with it what you will.
Regardless of your decision, I thank you for all that you have taught me about bravery and being one’s self, and I implore you once again to take care of yourself. You are the most incredible, honorable man I have ever met, and you deserve to be treated as such. Remember that.
Irrevocably yours,
Delloso de la Rue
Rue quietly summons Wuvvy, and with trembling hands, picks up the pin. It is a heart-shaped geode, split open in a way that reveals the iridescent rainbow of crystals inside. With a slow exhale, they place it in the envelope, seal it, and hand it to Wuvvy.
“Do you think he will like it?” Rue asks, quiet. “Is it too much?”
“He will like it because it is from you,” Wuvvy answers, eyes glistening with moisture like dew on early morning grass. “And if he does not, he is the most gargantuan fool I have ever encountered, and I will kill him where he stands.”
“Wuvvy!”
“You asked,” she points out, voice full of poorly concealed mirth. “But alright, I suppose I would spare him for your sake. He won’t reject you, but in that unlikely situation, don’t expect me to leave him uninjured.”
“I know my lists of demands can be long, but they’re never impossible,” Rue protests. “I would never ask that of you. But I do have a different request – would you bring this letter to Captain Hob, and put it in no one’s hands but his? There is no one I trust more than you.”
“And there is nothing I would not do for you.”
“As you have proven time and time again. Thank you for all that you do.”
“Of course,” Wuvvy trots toward the door, but pauses and turns around at the threshold. She smiles, but Rue knows her too well – the curve of her mouth is a little sad, a little wistful. “I love you. You know that, right?”
“Yes,” Rue answers, as they always do, even though the two of them are not saying the same thing, not really. “I love you, too.”
And this time, well –
This time, the letter remains unburned.