It had become habit, writing to her alt, but there was one letter that would never meet Abigail's eyes. Once she was finished, she placed the pretty blue stationary paper into a bowl and set fire to it.
Dear Abigail,
I must apologize in advance. You will never lay eyes on this letter so long as there is still life in this body. I'm doing it for your own good. I know that the other creature that inhabits this body will glean no comfort from the words written here. I believe that you would, were I not so cowardly. Recently, ghosts have been seen around this horrid place. That in and of itself is by no means uncommon, but I hasten to say that I was afforded such a visitation. I keep wondering if you remember Christina. I had certainly forgotten about her and I feel horrible for that, but that is what time does to you. She was only in our life for such a short time.
I found her crying on the couch last week. This pale, cold little form screaming her head off and I hated her. She reminded me that, once upon a time, I had been something more than what I am now. I had been you, Abigail. I'm not made for motherhood. I wanted nothing to do with this child, ghost or not, and I certainly wasn't prepared for all of the memories that she stirred up. But fate is strange like that, isn't it? It took two days for her to break me. I had gotten the hang of it all again and Christina didn't care about what I am or what I was. Even in her state, she knew that I was her mother. It's sobering, Abigail. It's been almost three hundred years since I last laid eyes on her and that memory, as faded as it may be, revolved around a tiny cedar casket.
In those two days I realized how much I loved her. I remembered how happy I was when she was born and how very sick I was. I remembered Brandais' grief over the loss of her and the impending loss of mineself. Just her laying there in my arms, cold but moving, I remembered how very loved I had been. I envy you that; you who can remember it so much more vividly than I can. The strange thing is that I knew that she would not stay. It's true, you know, that most ghosts have unfinished business. In the end, the only thing that Christina wanted was to give me comfort. This tiny little thing who could barely hold her head up on her own left me with such a profound gift. I can now say without any hesitation that I had once had a daughter. That I still *have* a daughter. I sit here knowing that she has already parted, and yet I cannot be sad. I am overjoyed with the time that was gifted to me.
These are tricky days, my dear. Though this body is old, in age if not appearance, you are still so very young. Never forget those feelings and please, listen when they dead are speaking. They are far wiser than we can ever claim to be.
Sincerely,
Abby Dekker
Dear Abigail,
I must apologize in advance. You will never lay eyes on this letter so long as there is still life in this body. I'm doing it for your own good. I know that the other creature that inhabits this body will glean no comfort from the words written here. I believe that you would, were I not so cowardly. Recently, ghosts have been seen around this horrid place. That in and of itself is by no means uncommon, but I hasten to say that I was afforded such a visitation. I keep wondering if you remember Christina. I had certainly forgotten about her and I feel horrible for that, but that is what time does to you. She was only in our life for such a short time.
I found her crying on the couch last week. This pale, cold little form screaming her head off and I hated her. She reminded me that, once upon a time, I had been something more than what I am now. I had been you, Abigail. I'm not made for motherhood. I wanted nothing to do with this child, ghost or not, and I certainly wasn't prepared for all of the memories that she stirred up. But fate is strange like that, isn't it? It took two days for her to break me. I had gotten the hang of it all again and Christina didn't care about what I am or what I was. Even in her state, she knew that I was her mother. It's sobering, Abigail. It's been almost three hundred years since I last laid eyes on her and that memory, as faded as it may be, revolved around a tiny cedar casket.
In those two days I realized how much I loved her. I remembered how happy I was when she was born and how very sick I was. I remembered Brandais' grief over the loss of her and the impending loss of mineself. Just her laying there in my arms, cold but moving, I remembered how very loved I had been. I envy you that; you who can remember it so much more vividly than I can. The strange thing is that I knew that she would not stay. It's true, you know, that most ghosts have unfinished business. In the end, the only thing that Christina wanted was to give me comfort. This tiny little thing who could barely hold her head up on her own left me with such a profound gift. I can now say without any hesitation that I had once had a daughter. That I still *have* a daughter. I sit here knowing that she has already parted, and yet I cannot be sad. I am overjoyed with the time that was gifted to me.
These are tricky days, my dear. Though this body is old, in age if not appearance, you are still so very young. Never forget those feelings and please, listen when they dead are speaking. They are far wiser than we can ever claim to be.
Sincerely,
Abby Dekker