Unsent Letter to Jasmine, Written Approximately 24/02, Recreated Here

Spica

Metadata

Reference Number: BICI/SSP/CRJ1004/016

Title: Unsent Letter to Jasmine, Written Approximately 24/02, Recreated Here

Author: Spica

Date: Written approximately 24/02, Year 5607 A. o. W.

Extent: One letter, three pages long

Jasmine, my dearest friend:

You and Blossom are my nighttime confidants. It is no longer surprising for my eyes to close, only to open again and find myself in the lighthouse as if you had finally granted me entry. 

And yet your haunting took on a different tenor last night. When I awoke, it was as though reality had haunted me, tearing me from the honeyed truth of the dream. I nearly fell out of bed in my blind pursuit to find some kind of balance: in this morning’s case, it was a desperate attempt to ground myself with my own feet. 

Now that I am as balanced as I can be, I am left wondering about my dream: was it simply a scenario my desperate mind created, or was I given a long-forgotten memory?

The only one who would know the truth is Blossom, and she…

She…

[There is something scribbled out on the letter. The text is illegible. Out of respect for the original text, the Berelyse Institute of Cultural Illumination has elected not to analyze the illegible portions. -Ellsyx]

That final night, you asked me to watch Blossom. You normally don’t, and didn’t, ask for my help, but she had fled to the lighthouse during the last full moon, and you were convinced that she would try once again. I accepted immediately, of course, desperate for the chance to aid you.

“Are you sure? She’s a handful,” you warned me, as if hoping I would say no. But how could I ever refuse your outstretched hand?

I accepted it, and all of the complications that came with watching Blossom. I knew sleep would prove elusive that night; even a flutter of my eyes could send Blossom sneaking away. I came prepared with tea and books, ready to stand sentry over the night.

At the door, Blossom greeted me sullenly. “I don’t need a babysitter,” she sighed, as if either one of us could change the situation. 

“Jasmine needs to work tonight,” I reminded her gently.

“She’d work better if she had help!” 

Blossom looked at me pleadingly, knowing that no matter how vehemently I protested, she and I held the same wish. The lighthouse was a prison we both failed to breach. We had no key to freedom, but perhaps we could offer comfort in your cage, if you’d only let us.

It has always struck me how vastly different you both are. She is the pale moon; you, the dark sea below. I see your similarities in the smallest things: the way your hair falls in the same lilting curls, the ravenous hunger that envelops you both at dinnertime, the eagerness with which Blossom attempts to translate your mannerisms into something of her own. She keeps her back stiffly straight like you when she sits, though hers is affected while yours is natural. She copies the way your words spill into one another when you talk, though her sentences last longer than yours ever do. You may not look alike, but what is that against your shared history?

I made Blossom dinner. We assembled a puzzle together, one I had brought from home. Upon finishing, Blossom asked if I could bring a few more for her. Completing them made the time pass faster when she was alone. When I suggested you and she could do one together, she rolled her eyes. “Jasmine would never. She’d be too busy cleaning to solve it with me.”

“She wants to make sure you’re taken care of.” But it was too late; the damage was already done. We approached a topic of frustration you and I have both heard many times before. 

“I’m thirteen already! I don’t need to be babied anymore! I can work in the lighthouse. It doesn’t scare me! It feels more like home than this dump ever could.”

“It’s safer down here. You’re closer to school. To the rest of the village. If you need help, the rest of the village is right here.” I recited every point you ever made to her, but I left out the biggest one of all: that you hate your cottage far less than you hate the lighthouse. 

For all Blossom insists she wants to dedicate her life to the lighthouse, you want to offer her a choice. You want to shield her from the cruelty fate bestowed upon you. If her dreams change, you want to let her chase them. Even if it dooms you to a place you hate.

I admire that about you, Jasmine. You may not believe it, but you have such a bright soul. You love so deeply and so intensely. It astounds me every time. 

“No one should stay at the lighthouse alone. If you’re alone, the sorrow will swallow you,” Blossom said. 

I noticed a change in her. I don’t need to explain it; you’ve seen it countless times. The faraway look. The sudden gravity to her voice. A weight that a little girl should never be able to grasp.

“We’ll always be together. You, me, Jasmine. Jasmine may not understand, but this is how it has to go. I know it. Just trust me,” Blossom said.

I awoke in a cold sweat.

I shouldn’t have left. I shouldn’t have said yes. I shouldn’t have opened the door. I shouldn’t have looked in the hearth. I shouldn’t have looked in the hearth. I shouldn’t have looked in the hearth.

Why did I look? Why why why

[The rest of the letter is completely indecipherable. The Institute has tried to, and can’t, decipher the ending. -Ellsyx]