Words in the smoke.

[Arianna_Fireau]

((A letter written and then promptly burned after completion.))

Hey Fleabag,

I know it's stupid that I still write these. You've been dead over nine years now. But I guess I'll never stop writing you. Maybe somewhere, somehow, you get them. One can only hope.

Your daughter is one hell of a kid. I guess she should be, looking at who went into her creation. She's talking back joining a pack with a brunch of other GWers. I encouraged her. It made me kind of sad though, I remember you in your pack.

Sometimes I wonder, if you hadn't packed under Falcon, would everything be different? Or was it merely your character that drove you to what you must have known would be a suicide mission. I know the Dancers killed your pack and you somehow got away. I know dishonor and all that jazz... but goddamit James, the world still fucking needed you. I needed you. Your kid needed you. She never even met you. I lied and told her you died before she was born. That way she didn't have to wonder why you didn't go looking for her. If Ari's anything like your mother I see why you fell for her. Don't get me wrong, little Ari's like my sister, but she's gonna grow into one hell of a woman. She's everything you were but more-so. She's got your fire and your spunk and your passion. And your attitude problem. But she can be quiet too, something you were never good at. And she's so scared of messing up.

I didn't tell her. She knows BSDs attacked your pack. She doesn't know the whole story. I don't have the heart to tell her. It's a hell of a lot harder to fawn over the hero when he left you behind.

I miss you and I hope you've found peace wherever you are. Say hello to my mom if you see her.

-James