Locke's Valentine's 2023

It was a plain envelope, indistinct in any way, and yet this was the season for sending and receiving letters so maybe the recipient would let their curiosity best them just this once. Their name was printed on the back of the letter contained within, though not in its entirety, just enough to let them know that it was something truly for them. Two letters were all that it took.




One letter, three verses. Three letters, one verse. They were the same, in the end, were they not? For he had none of them.

The fourteenth day of February was not one of celebration or intimacy for William Curry. A true businessman had no time for such frivolous pursuits. A proper operative had no such need for romantic attachment. He was neither, despite his best efforts, so he did as he had done for many years and took the week off from work for personal reasons. Some had noted it as an oddity, that these five days were the only ones he requested leave for each year since he had established the Whiterose Foundation, but none were quite dim enough to ask him why. Those few that knew also knew better than to have loose lips.

Freed momentarily from the shackles of his work, Curry looked out over the rolling hills of a country scarred by its past. The north of England was where they had always wanted to settle down, a quiet little village somewhere that would give them the secluded family life that both had always craved. It had not been possible whilst she was alive, though. The demons had seen to that. At least they were gone now, wiped away from this corner of the planet at the cost of the unfilled hole that they left behind.

On one particular hill, he stopped and took off his hiking pack. After a few moments of rummaging, he produced the letter that he had sworn he had placed at the top but had been somewhat crumpled during the journey. Still, it was legible enough for him to still remember what he wrote.

Another year without you.

I know you would have wanted me to move on by now. To give up this senseless quest for my own sake. But I haven't yet found again that part of me that they took along with you. I cannot simply start pretending that it did not happen, nor admit that it was all my fault.

I don't think it would make you happy to know that I have made progress on that front, but you deserve to know. I recruited an assortment of people that you would have wanted me to avoid, and dug up a few leads the old fashioned way. Can't say I kept my hands clean this time, and there's still a lot more to be done.

So, maybe by next year, I'll be done with all this. Or I'll be there with you.

Pretty dark, huh? Sorry about that. I'll put it on the tab.

With love,

Will

A rare smile cracked across Curry's weatherbeaten features as he read it for the last time. He was getting worse at writing these, but maybe that was a good thing. Writing to the dead was hardly a hobby that one should wish to grow accustomed to.

From his jacket pocket he produced a cigarette, hardly uncommon for the serial businessman to carry, and then came the lighter. First went the paper, and then the smoke. He held onto it for a while as it burnt, watching the fire consume his bitter confessions before scattering them to the wind. Then it was back to the grind.

Moe had expected to receive plenty of letters from her adoring fans, which had naturally turned out to be a single letter from her family offering some vaguely supportive comments and a few pleasant but uninspiring chocolates. There was certainly a surprised little hum that escaped her lips as another letter found its way to her within the crowded confines of the Fourth Division barracks. That turned a few heads, but she was quick to brush them off and stowed the letter for reading later.

It had been a long day on the training yard, Moe working harder than anyone else, and she was about to collapse onto her bed when she recalled the stranger's letter. Pulling it out of her robes, which had recently been discarded on the floor so that she could slip into something a little more comfortable, the poor letter had suffered quite a beating having lived in there all day. The contents were hardly ruined though, and with a little bit of effort, she was able to iron it out and read the contents.

Oh. Looks like the higher-ups are finally getting the good word.

It took her a while to find a pen and some paper to write out a reply, but she owed it to this guy to go the extra mile. That was just the type of person she was.

Officer Zefa,

I appreciate you taking the time out of your day to reach out to me, your junior. Of course, I am grateful for your kind words and encouragement. Had it not been for the vocal support of my comrades then I might not have found the strength to stay standing till the very end of my match.

It is my pleasure to represent the 4th Division, not only for my own pride but for every member of our dear division. We are all fighters here, and I won't quit until I am the best!

So keep watching out for me, as I will for you. In the meantime, enjoy the chocolates.

Moe Machihara

Dotting the i of her family name with a tiny heart instead of the usual dot, Moe sealed the letter away with a little bag of chocolate truffles. Quite a delicacy, and one she had to strongly resist simply consuming all for herself, but that was the spirit of the gesture. A treat to be shared with your real family.

The Furukawa Estate did not have a particularly large garden. Just a small courtyard with a moderate floral display and an unimpressive view of the neighbouring lands. It was, like many things about the Furukawa, unremarkable.

Her father had occasionally sat out here whilst he worked, complaining that the confines of an office were ill-suited for matters of particular import, and it was for that reason that Asami found herself there today. Her hair was down, a flowing mane of raven-black hair bereft of the usual headpiece and instead flowing freely, and her usual formal attire replaced with a practical outfit of homely clothes and a long apron that covered her front. She was focused intensely on the task at hand, the precision of which mattered greatly to her, and spared not a single thought to her own image.

She was a woman of many talents, after all. Gifted with both nimble fingers from her mother and an astute mind from her father, whilst these were compounded upon by her own unique drive and muted passion. Today, out of all her numerous hobbies and pursuits, her project was horticulture. She had been cultivating these particular plants for a while, as a personal project, and the process of diligently maintaining and pruning them was entirely intimate for her. Usually, it was a soothing experience, but today marked the most opportune time to harvest her yield and thus it was akin to destroying one's own artwork. It took several hours of careful work, precise cuts and delicate clips, to produce the desired result.

Finally satisfied, she placed the chosen cuttings inside an envelope, a short letter already included, and sent it onwards via courier to its destination which was hardly a great distance away.

Kyo,

I hope that you can forgive me for thinking of you on this auspicious day. I did not think I would find the courage to put pen to paper, and yet I continue to surprise myself.

I-- had not been one to carry regrets until I met you, and now I fear that I will never be free of them. Of the words said and unsaid, and the actions done and undone.
As I recall, we once spoke of the beauty in ephemerality, I have found myself only more enchanted by that of the natural world and thus compelled to share a little piece of it with you. Even structures that we build from the toughest slabs of stone and masonry can come crashing down around us, but that does not mean there was no purpose in their creation.

So I offer you this token as an affirmation that my thoughts are yet unchanged and my resolve not yet broken. I am told that it makes a fine blend of tea, so I trust in you to do my efforts justice and enjoy the bounty therein on both of our behalfs. If you dared to spare me a thought whilst you did so then I would be most honoured.

With sincerity,

Furukawa Asami.

The token itself was a selection of Japanese camellia, the colouration of which was that of a strikingly bold red that was not unlike the fascinator that she had always worn. Each flower was complete in its entirety and at the apex of its bloom, with a modest shine to each petal that reflected the care and dedication that had gone into this procedure. It was a statement of many meanings, most of which she knew he would deduce. Of nobility, of love, and of the death of both.

The letter, whilst wanting to appear to be written meticulously in a perfect hand, was not without fault. The scores and indentations upon several words left the suggestion that there were other thoughts that had come to mind first and only later been redacted or removed. Even this one, the chosen selection, bore at least one clear imperfection. There was some light staining too, but that was surely the result of tiny drops of water seeping from the cut plant stems rather than anything more untoward.