Black Abby's scrawl was messier, rushed and almost every letter she wrote was crumpled up and torn by the time Squeaker found them. She wrote on anything she could find; flaps ripped from cardboard boxes right down to the pillow case where they lay their head.



Squeaker,

Kindly shut your cake hole. It's amazing that you think that you have all of the answers; that me knowing about the bitch we were before will somehow make everything all tickityboo.

Do you think you could do better without me? You're nothing, do you understand? I could blink you away like a bad dream if I wanted to. You're no soiled dove, little girl. You might know about everything I've done, seen it in boohoohoo clarity, but have you ever done anything to stop any of it?

What's that? Squeaksqueaksqueak?

Thought so. See, that makes you complicit. Now go hide in a corner and cry like you always do. I'll be waiting for your letter.

Love you,

Abby

Dear Squeaker,

I did what is only in my nature, darling. There are so many of us that don't use our potential; potential meant for things other than saving orphans and putting out fires.

I don't regret killing the girl, Squeaker. The truth is, I don't regret anything except not taking a crack at Sophie while she was still around. Lessons, darling. This life is all about lessons. I sired Loreck to teach you one and I killed Sophie's daughter to teach another.

We're not tuned for normal relationships. Her daughter would have died regardless, and Loreck? Loreck would have run off if it wasn't for me doing what I did.

Just remember that in the end you've got me, no matter what you want. We have each other.

Abby

Dear Squeaker,

Well if the Horne girl didn't want that bite then maybe she should have shut her trap, hmm? It really seems balanced to me!

I think you're also leaving out the part where I wasn't the one that kidnapped her. If someone was screaming and carrying on while *you* were trying to beat the last level on Mario then I should hope you'd be quick to stick the mockers on their caterwauling as well.

As for the dragon? Perhaps some of that blame that you so liberally toss around should be aimed at Loreck. He was the one that pulled a Pepper's Ghost on steroids. At any rate she won't be bothering us again.

I think if you could learn the concept of blackmail then you'd be unstoppable. Why, we could even grab a pint together.

Love,

Abby

Squeaker Dearest,

Kindly screw off. I'm not even worried about that big blonde airhead or the elf thing with the gun. The wounds healed didn't they? It was just a fluke, a mistake and neither of us should put too much thought into it.

I am well aware that Miss Rosewinds is planning something and that's fine. That's what makes things exciting, Squeaks. However, I'm slightly concerned about your mental health if you're starting to believe every batsh*t rant that comes out of Fleck's mouth.

Also? You're not a sadist. That would make you a masochist, dear.

Love you, mean it,

Abby

Dear Squeaker

I suppose I could very well apologize for being so slack in writing to you, but you know me better than that. I've been quite busy and you would be happy to know that I haven't killed anyone recently. Also, when you worm your back into control, maybe you'll notice that we can see now.

Love you,

Abby

It had been the first letter in a very long time that she had penned to her defunct alt and though she knew that no one else would ever see it and though it brought her no comfort, she still folded it up once all was said and done and slipped it beneath her pillow.

Squeaker,

I'm not entirely sure who I can talk to and I believe that in the end this is safest. As you may or may not know, I recently traveled with Audrey Horne to Earth to gather the ingredients to bring her wife back from the dead. There were naturally some places where, as a human, she couldn't go and one of those happened to be the lair of an Asmari demon.

To say these creatures are hideous is to put it mildly, dear Squeaker, but the spell called for a canine from one of these beasts. It was agreed that I would fetch it, given this wretched body's ability to heal itself, and I was surprised to find how very sharp their teeth were when the poor brute in question liberated me of my left leg.

That wasn't the problem, Squeaker. I found out too late that the venom of an Asmari brings about terrible visions. It dredges up the very worst things from a person's past and pushes them to the forefront of one's brain in vicious clarity.

I have spent all of this time thinking that my dear Brandais had died of old age and was so very wrong.

I killed him, didn't I? I'm not even sure why I'm asking this question because I already know the answer. I saw myself trying to embrace him. What was it? Three years after I was sired? He had such hatred in his eyes for what I was doing to him, what I was taking from him and what had I done? I hated him for hating me and I broke his neck. I left my son an orphan.

I saw all of it, Squeaker. I saw every last bit of it and I felt the way Black Abby felt. She felt nothing for him.

I'm paying for it now, aren't I? Was that why you tried to raise that foundling? If time is too heavy a thing to carry on our backs then why does this bother me so? Had you hid this from me to spare me this pain?

I wish I could tell Geiseric or Blodwyn or even Magenta but what good would it do?

Who can I tell but you, Squeaker?

Who can I tell?

It had taken awhile for Abigail to return Abby's correspondence, but she eventually did and left on the dressed beneath a bag of marbles for the other being to find.

Dear Abby,

Thank you so very much for your kind words. You may never see the end result, but you have helped me more than you shall ever know. Everything here is quite overwhelming and it has taken me awhile to realize that there are people here who want to help me.

You feel like a friend that I shall never get to meet, which is silly, isn't it? You may be happy to know that I'm slowly coming to terms with everything. It still hurts to think that my family is gone, as it seems only a month has passed since I last saw them, but if your words are indeed true then I am happy. You mentioned me coming across one of my descendents. I would love to do so. Perhaps you can help me?

I adore Miss Howell and Geiseric (Whom I affectionately call 'Ghost'). They have been a balm to me, as have you. I do believe that Miss Howell misses you when I am here, but she is a very lovely woman. I shall never understand why she insists on keeping her hair so short!

I shall try to find my place in this world and perhaps someday I will make you proud.

I await your next letter with bated breath.

Yours truly,

Abigail Louise Baker-Dekker

Dear Miss Dekker,

I'm standing here in the home of a woman who once claimed the title of our broodmate. I cannot tell you how long I've been standing by their bed nor can I pinpoint the exact moment when their breathing began to sync up. They're simply sleeping, you understand, but they make for a lovely tableau.

There's trust there.

When I stayed with the Hornes, I witnessed this very thing. They care not how uncomfortable a tangle of limbs may be so long as they are touching one another.

You remember better than I that feeling. What has been centuries for me must feel like days for you. Do you remember the feeling of Brandias' skin against yours? Do you recall the way your cheek felt against his chest?

I ask these things not to be cruel, Miss Dekker. I believe I've simply grown maudlin with sentimentality.

You see, humans have it figured it out. It doesn't matter a jot if they don't realize it. The most fearful of mankind can sometimes find trust in sleep, I believe. They can find trust in another of their kind. That, my dear, is the power of love. Primitive and more beautiful than words, it sings to them and lulls the beast called paranoia.

I wonder if I look this peaceful when I fall asleep next to Beatrix or Geiseric. I imagine not. I imagine I look quite tortured after a spell.
Speaking of, I implore you to meet the Horne women. They are crazy in a way that makes us appear sane, but the small one smells like apples and the tall one is quite deliciously vicious when the mood strikes her. They also have an adorable child named Susanna.

Still awaiting your reply,

Abby

Dear Abigail,

I know this letter is late and for that I apologize. A lot has happened in our little world since the last time I wrote to you. I will not bore you with the details of what I assume you've no interest in (again, pardon), so I shall keep this short and sweet. I took a trip to Earth with Beatrix and Tina. I brought back with me a hollow victory and the realization that my life is a listless one.

Do not get me wrong. I could never do the 'charity' work shared by yourself and Miss Howell simply because I am not designed for such blatant acts of genuine selflessness. Still, it feels as if I've nothing more to do. I feel as if I'm going through the motions and that is not a feeling that I particularly enjoy. Geiseric and Bea are still lovely and I believe I'm as close to Saffron and her wife as I shall ever get, but love is not what I lack. I lack direction.

You see, dear, I spent so long as The Red Prince of Arras that not being that very thing is something that deeply troubles me. There was a structure there that I craved, but such a thing does not exist in this world; not for me at least. I know that I have my little routines. I play my video games- ask Bea about those- and I play with my dog. I indulge myself on the affection of my small circle and genuinely enjoy returning it in kind.

But this is not the same thing.

Perhaps I fear the change of it all; the absolute shift from Queen Cat to fat, pampered house feline.

It will come to me in time, I imagine. I do hope you're well, dear and do so look forward to our continuing correspondence.

Sincerely,

Abby Dekker

PS: Please do look at the package attached to this note. I know I have a camera that I could very well let you borrow, but I believe you would take to your own with the greatest of ease.

Dear Abby,

I'm here. I'm always here. Tock is as well, though her writing isn't nearly as lovely as your own.

I'm incredibly saddened to hear about Beatrix's departure. I'm guessing that's why I'm here right now and able to write this letter to you. The ink on your own is still wet. You said that you are grieving her but I have no doubt in mine mind that you will see one another again.

I received the camera. Such a fascinating device! Each time I press the button at the top, it makes a schinking sound that perks Rivers' ears up. I believe I have at least seven pho-to-graphs of that dog's ears! Such a clown he is. He and Jeremiah make the strangest of pairs.

As for Ghost, I think he's telling the truth. I've never known of him to be a liar and he seems quite fond of you. A touch fonder than the young man who delivers those strange flat circles of food. He screams so loudly whenever he sees me!

This life we live is very strange, Abby, but I find it very lovely.

Love,

Abigail Louise Baker-Dekker

Dearest Abby,

I wish you would not spare me the details of what goes on. Waking up and feeling so very weak has me entirely too worried. I know you pride yourself upon being so strong, but there is also strength in expressing your troubles from time to time.

Does Ghost know about this? How heavy it all feels? I feel as if I've been taken apart piece by piece and placed back together by a child's hands. If I feel this way then so must you. If you do not get back to me on this matter then I shall be forced to confront Ghost about it mineself and I do not wish to do that.

I love you, Abby and while I'm somewhat grateful to you for masking the horrors of our world, I should like to think that you know that I can handle it. I was you once upon a time and we have never, ever been so weak.

Yours truly,

Abigail

Dearest Abigail,

I've been so late in writing to you and I suppose that had more to do with my rattled nerves than anything approaching preparation. For that I'm sorry. You've always been so kind to me, even if that kindness is brought on by ignorance of who exactly you think I am.

I'm Abby Dekker, formerly Black Abby, Prince of Arras. I've done things that would make The Devil himself shudder from hoof to tail tip but I have always done so with purpose.

I'm well aware how others see me and I know how present myself. I have never once apologized for who I am. I have never once let fear or guilt pull me away from something that need be done.

I'm telling you these things because of all of the people in the world, I trust you. That trust rivals even the sort that I've hefted upon my dear caveman. I want you to have a better view of what lurks on the other side of your mirror.

Abigail, I'm absolutely terrified. In a matter of weeks I'll be dropped into something that seems so very alien that I'm still of the mind that it's happening to someone else. But it's real, isn't it? It has fingers and toes and ears and eyes and it moves. Lord, does it move. Sometimes I can feel its heart beating and sometimes I can hear it. I can feel it hiccup.

I'm not afraid that I'll harm it. I've never been one to harm children; it takes a different, more twisted monster than I to do something so needlessly terrible. What I'm afraid of is that I'll let it down; that I'll fall short of what it will need from me. Oddly I don't have the same fears about Geiseric and he's the sort that still tosses spilled table salt over his shoulder. On an unrelated note, I'm also quite sure that he's done away with the elderly neighbor woman. Apparently presenting us with poisoned pies was all fine and dandy before, but the old man has become quite protective. If such deeds are not the mark of a good father then I'm not exactly sure what is.

I want more than anything to do right by it, whatever that may mean. I tell it these things knowing that it has no way to respond.

Perhaps I'm over-thinking things. I'm quite sure I already love the creature, for whatever good that will do it.

Thank you, Abigail.

Yours,

Abby Dekker

Dear Abigail,

Thank you for the lovely pictures, dear. Mr. Godric is absolutely adorable, as you well know. He is an odd child for more reasons than you may think and seems only to fuss when it is necessary. Geiseric is good with him and apparently records their story time sessions together. I do regret to say that I ended the life of a rather unfortunate postal service worker just last eve. Geiseric was napping- NAPPING! GEISERIC!- and the poor man had simply forgotten to deliver a package from cousin Adamaris.

Had he knocked on the door and not crept around the back then the accident surely would have been avoided. Needless to say, I would have made an excellent baseball player had I ever fancied such a career. I'll spare you the gorier details, but do make sure to watch where you plant your rose bushes come spring.

I digress. I confused the man's perplexing- and have I mentioned unfortunate?- disorientation with sounds that I've been hearing for some time now. Screams filtered through a carpet- that is the best way that I can describe them. Soon I shall fetch Geiseric and journey to find the source.

I hope you're well.

Your friend,

Abby