The sun drew a long breath and kissed the horizon farewell. As the colors of dusk began to fade into grey and then deep blue-black, the stars began to make themselves known to any would-be onlooker. Illiana was this first onlooker tonight, her fingers covered in ink. In her journal were confessions ill-made, and the bruise-blue at her hands was a cruel reminder of the words she'd bent into her own private grove of written melancholy.

She would shake it off, she decided. The journal was stuffed beneath her pillow: its solemn resting place at her brain's sepulcher. Rising from the mess of Egyptian sheets, Illy undressed and wandered to the shower, where the water was so hot it burned as ice might in a blizzard. She washed the ink from her fingers, resisting that constant urge to wash her skin from her muscles, to rub out the pale. The cold.

Gideon wasn't awake yet. That, or he was out already. Her belly was a mute craving - there was no time to wait. Dressing quickly, Illy left the building in a modest pair of immaculately tailored grey slacks and a silky black oxford whose dip was not too deep. Over this, her favorite coat, which threatened to trail the ground were it not for those long-heeled boots. The height was a welcome change; her small frame could appear so frail, so wan.

Illy paused at the glass doors of the hotel and lit herself a cigarette. She was in the process of waving the flame from the match when a small boy practically crashed into her.

"I'm so sorry, miss! I'm supposed to deliver this to a doctor!" The boy was so small, so precious. Illy mustered enough warmth into her smile to offer comfort.

"What sort of doctor? Is he staying in this hotel?"

"Not a he, miss, it's a lady." He wrinkled his nose and stared down at the envelope in his hands. "Ill-ee-anna? Something."

Illy's eyebrows knit together, curiosity etched into her features. Gently, she reached for the envelope. The boy protectively backed away, and she laughed.

"I'm Illiana Valentine, it's all right. Who is this from?"

The boy simply thrust the envelope at her and then ran off. She turned the envelope over in her hands and opened it.

Her thumb affectionately rubbed at the smiling circle, her own lips a gentle curl of some mix between mirth and chaste love.

Forgetting the angry wail of hunger, Illy folded the letter and eased it carefully into its envelope, which she placed into her inner coat pocket. Close to her heart. A pity that the brown-haired seraph had vanished so quickly; she would have preferred to send a return message at once.

Her lips coaxed a final lungful of smoke into the caverns of her body before fingers released the burning ember, casting it into the snow, where fire met its nemesis and bellowed quietly in remorse. She turned and made her way back into the luxurious lobby of the hotel. The warmth hit her and cradled, made her feel as safe as the note tucked into its envelope at her breast. She approached the hook-nosed concierge, tall as Jack's beanstalk and kind as the singing harp.

"Daniel, I need a favor. It's terribly important."

"What can I do for you, madam?" Daniel had accustomed himself to addressing her with British formalities, a sort of game which amused the two of them - he was so unabashedly American, after all. Any curiosities that he might note in the woman who lived with the decadent young man in the top-level penthouse were dutifully discarded. Gideon always paid well, and Illiana was perhaps his favorite tenant.

"I need you to look up an address for me. The surname is de Vernon. I know the estate is in West End, but I haven't got a clue about the street or the number. I also need some paper and a pen, if you would be an absolute darling." Illy's grin was snow-kissed: bits of ice clung like children to her eyelashes.

"Don't you worry, love, I'm in the business of grantin' wishes!" Daniel gave the thin girl a conspiratory wink and promptly handed over a few pieces of stationary. Behind his desk, he rummaged until he could produce a fountain pen to go along.

"I'll have that address in a snap, madam. If you'd like to write your message here, you're welcome to my desk!" He stood, then, his gracious bow almost comically low.

Her laughter was hardly restrained, a friendly timbre to the sound. "I'll just pop over to the couch, Daniel. I refuse to usurp your coveted position!"

With a return half-dip of her body to accompany his bow, she set off for the sofa, all smiles and gooey excitement. How long since she'd had correspondance? Years, perhaps. It was frightfully welcome. For all of the protection and security that Gideon provided, it was pleasant to think of someone whose pulse was steady. Sebastian, her young student. Her friend. Yes, it was a comfort.

Her fingers spread the thick paper against the small coffee table. With the pen at her lip, she gazed at the blank sheet, thoughtful. After a long moment of inner composition, she began to write.

As she signed the note, Daniel approached.

"If you like, madam, I can have that sealed and taken down to Isis Manor immediately."

She folded the paper once and handed it to the concierge as she stood.

"That would be wonderful, Daniel. Thank you for always taking care of me!"

Daniel took the letter, and with a second clown-like bow, he headed into his office. Illy tied the belt of her coat around herself and moved out into the night, where she would sate her hunger with shadowy guilt.

Sebastian,

How delightful it is to have heard from you, my friend. I think of you often and wonder whether your world is still in good order. I trust that it is, because to think otherwise is monstrous.

Your worries for me are kind, and yet wholly unnecessary. I am healthy and, for the most part, happy.

Regarding your request: I would like nothing more than to read what you've written. I am no professor of literature, but I will gladly offer my advice as your humble servant.

If you would send word to my hotel with the details, I will happily meet with you. The address can be found on the back of this letter.


Warmly yours,
Illiana Valentine