It was the first night out of Rhydin?s port and Jean de La Fontaine sat on the bed in his quarters; the bed that he and Des shared on so many nights, the bed where they had made love countless times. Several hanging oil lanterns provided light to the stateroom. He held a sheet of parchment in one hand and a quill in the other, and he began to write his first letter.
Most Dear and Precious Des,
Our first night out to sea is upon beautiful moonlit waters; yet I detest it, for every breeze, every crest of each new wave, every bow-induced wake that slowly dissolves away to erase all evidence of our silent passing ? all these serve as tormenting reminders that I am moving further from you, from my heart?s pure love.
'Tis surely eternal condemnation, the deserved results of countless sins, that I cannot be with you, for 'heaven' is where my Destre lives; and every cat and dog and little mouse, every unworthy thing that lives there in my Rhydin 'heaven' may look upon you; while I, Jean, your devoted husband, may not. Such is the unfairness of life.
I miss you, dear Des; yet, if this poor letter, if sent, would find you well, then I can take consolation in that, and I promise to return to you with all speed and singleness of mind.
Your Jean, who loves thee more than life
Forever and always and two days
He folded the letter and put it into a water resistant leather pouch and tucked it into his shirt, keeping it close to his heart.
Most Dear and Precious Des,
Our first night out to sea is upon beautiful moonlit waters; yet I detest it, for every breeze, every crest of each new wave, every bow-induced wake that slowly dissolves away to erase all evidence of our silent passing ? all these serve as tormenting reminders that I am moving further from you, from my heart?s pure love.
'Tis surely eternal condemnation, the deserved results of countless sins, that I cannot be with you, for 'heaven' is where my Destre lives; and every cat and dog and little mouse, every unworthy thing that lives there in my Rhydin 'heaven' may look upon you; while I, Jean, your devoted husband, may not. Such is the unfairness of life.
I miss you, dear Des; yet, if this poor letter, if sent, would find you well, then I can take consolation in that, and I promise to return to you with all speed and singleness of mind.
Your Jean, who loves thee more than life
Forever and always and two days
He folded the letter and put it into a water resistant leather pouch and tucked it into his shirt, keeping it close to his heart.