TEEN: Flying in the Dark [COMPLETE]

[diamondpearl876]

FLYING IN THE DARK
[letter twenty-five]

*​

October 12

Markus…

Ugh. Okay, so Kenneth’s been all about the non-Lumiose scenery, but I’ve convinced him that we’ve got to hurry, we can come back later if he wants to that bad! He wants to take pictures and search for items that travelers dropped, then sell them. Goomy slime, he says, is in high demand because it’s a core ingredient in glue, and artists combine it with minerals to make clay. Even if we could stay, his hands are getting full, literally…

I did tell him you said thank you. He was speechless. I went right on to explain why you’d finally conceded to our friendship, and, true to character, he promptly informed me that maybe it wasn’t wise to have planned our trip so that we’d arrive at the last possible moment. Yeah, I know. I know. Whenever I see a flying-type overhead, I stare at it until it’s out of sight, wondering if it’s looking for me, if you’re looking for me to say it’s too late. I don’t want it to be too late. So I feel stupid, but it’s not too late until you’re officially gone. And as far as know, you’re still at Brun Way, waiting for me or waiting to be corralled to your new home, whichever comes first.

Why am I writing, you ask, when I could be closing in on Laverre, step by step by step? Well, everyone wanted to stop to eat. I’m not hungry. I feel sick, because you were right, the stench here is awful. How their appetites are intact here is strange to me!

Anyway, I have to do something, and writing to you in the interim feels as productive as anything else. I think I’ll feed my pokémon by hand next time and promise Kenneth that I’ll buy him a gift or something if he agrees to walk and eat at the same time.

Kenneth’s packing up his goodies now. What he’s found is valuable, right? Maybe I could convince him to donate it all to the prison. Then your warden could sell it all and use that money to advertise better, or temporarily increase the current guards’ paycheck. Would that be enough? Brun Way must already have the funds to shift prisoners from one city to another, so who knows what they could do with just a bit more money? Or what about Valerie’s gym? If she really wants to help her program stay on track, she could use the popularity of gym leaders to raise awareness and money!

I’ll talk to the Brun Way warden and Valerie myself. Hopefully you, too. I know you can’t control what happens from here, but… please don’t go. I’ll respect your wish for me not to respond for now. No point risking this letter getting lost in the mail, too. Oh, but I’m grateful that my coin made its way to you. I figured you’d simply forgotten to say that you received it a while back. Hold on tight to it. It’s a lucky coin, you know, and luck is what we need right now!

October 15

Never mind, we don’t need luck. We need the truth, all of it, unraveled and flattened out with not a kink to be seen.

…What can I write here? What role can words serve anymore? I guess I’m going to attach the first part of this letter, because I mean, I don’t want you to think I abandoned you, or considered it, like you predicted. Look, I don’t blame you for your anxiety, your weak memory, your self-loathing. What do they all have in common? They’re irrational. You insisted that was the case, over and over, like an unwanted encore from your performing days. I believed you the first time, Markus! Now it’s crushing me, how you characterized me as a friend who could write you off after all.

Kenneth’s torn on whether he wants to lecture or pity me. But you knew, too, how I stopped needing his approval about you forever ago. Our writing back and forth was enough. You chose to share yourself bit by bit with me, and that was okay. More than that, I appreciated it. I knew how difficult your own journey was. The images and words that slowly compiled in my brain and made you, you… were enough. I feel guilty, like I failed to make that clear. Did I need to be louder? YOU WERE ENOUGH!

I hope this reaches you, wherever you are. Yeah, read that again: wherever you are. Because guess what? Me and Kenneth checked in at the Laverre Pokémon Center this morning, then rushed to Brun Way. And you were not there.

Oh, you warned me that you might be relocated by October 15. But that’s the thing. You located, just of your own volition.

The prison’s gates, and the fence extending from it to form a huge rectangle, were taller than I’d expected. Five of me could’ve created a ladder that still wouldn’t permit anyone to look or jump inside. The surrounding branchless trees, I thought, must be that way because the space they needed to grow was snatched away.

I no longer felt confident in my plan of marching through the courtyard and straight to the guards. I rang the gate’s bell and moved forward anyway, with your very first letter folded and tucked it into my pants pocket. I found myself gripping it with my hand, unconsciously. Your last name, I was scared to forget it, shy as I am and prone to choking up in confrontations with strangers.

Inside, I could see what you meant about visitors. The waiting/visitor room was fit for, like, two people at most, and the chair seats, cheap but plush, weren’t broken in but layered with dust despite the disinfectant smell in the air.

I stared too long. The guard on duty at the desk asked what a young girl like me could possibly need, which made me red in the face. I rehearsed your last name in my head and, confident that I wasn’t at risk for stuttering because I remembered, I told him the reason for my visit. The guard didn’t hesitate, either, in widening his eyes and coughing. He had a birthmark on his neck—it reminded me of the shape of a foreign country—that darkened to purple as he sputtered gibberish. He fled through the office’s back door for a minute to compose himself, only to return and admit that you weren’t there.

I didn’t have to put on a surprise act. Without his genuine uneasiness, I would’ve suspected that me and Kenneth were too late, and I’d have reacted appropriately. With disappointment, and with questions about your whereabouts. But the guard was too nervous, his movements too theatrical. Something was wrong. So I told him your story about a guard shortage, relocating a list of prisoners, and all that. His face looked rumpled as he explained that none of that was even close to true.

I briefly wondered, hoped, that he was forbidden to admit private information like that, or that he was deceiving me because of my age and situation. If that were the case, though, finding your information wouldn’t have been so easy, Markus…

I was on the right track, I knew, when Kenneth nodded to me, his mouth set in the deepest frown I’d ever seen from him.

I pressed the guard. Was I at the right address? Yes, I was. And you weren’t. Still, the man knew your name, your cell number, Eyeball and Bouncer’s nicknames, and other basic trivia I threw at him. Silence hung over us afterward until he offered to show me your cell, which was the invitation I wanted but didn’t have the courage to demand.

The prisoners, slouched and withdrawn, perked up as we passed by. The lights were on, but the black tiled walls offset the brightness and enhanced the whiteness of each cell’s bare bed, toilet, and tiny desk. I couldn’t tear my gaze away, not until I found Eyeball and Bouncer. Two halls later, I recognized them based off of your descriptions. So there are at least two stories you told me that were honest.

When the guard opened your cell, I kept my eyes on your side, your belongings. Kenneth stood behind me, blocking the invasive stares that urged me to bolt and purge the memory of coming here. I focused on finding my lucky coin to see if you’d taken it with you. There was nothing, though. Just cleanliness, bareness, as if you wanted to convince everyone you were an imaginary person.

Who leaves letters and personal items out in the open, though? I wasn’t allowed to open your desk drawers to see. I choose to believe that there are signs of you and me in there. Or would you take my letters with you, too?

On the way out, I lowered my head, unsure and ashamed. I spotted a granbull in the visitor’s room, mumbling about how he’d been dropped off for his shift and could do nothing but wait, and he’d always sensed a dark type of energy from “that pointless man,” so Rowe is true, too. I didn’t dare approach him. My skills communicating with pokémon could use some work, for one thing, and I didn’t want more reasons to be angry with you.

Kenneth said he’d head back to the Pokémon Center. Would I join him? No, I wanted to be alone. I couldn’t say so, I was that pathetically close to tears, but he understood.

Wandering the quiet streets of Laverre, I stumbled onto a road undergoing construction. The workers were resurfacing it. I had to turn around. What I wanted was to disturb the workers, have them yell at me because I deserved it. I did not deserve to be lied to and abandoned, but I would deserve to be yelled at for preventing people from improving the city.

When Kenneth and me parted ways, I overlooked the fact that my pokémon were with me. One of the pokéballs in my backpack’s outer pocket vibrated, advising me to quit standing there, gawking and awkward. A few blocks later, the vibrating hadn’t stopped. Had it always felt that violent? “Okay, okay, I’ll let you out,” I said, not sure which of my birds I was referring to yet. Then out popped Ribbons, on his own. It was just like him to wait for my permission when he felt like exploding inside. I stroked the feathers protruding from the back of his head and assured him I was fine.

This didn’t calm him down. He pointed his wing in the direction of Brun Way, exclaiming something about it being too close… can we leave… wrongness… I sensed that he’d been calling for my attention ever since we arrived in Laverre, and I’d neglected him in my excitement to meet you, then again in my stupor upon realizing you’d escaped from prison.

Did he sense a kind of darkness, like Rowe did? Even from all the way inside his pokéball? His disadvantage to dark-types couldn’t possibly extend to human immorality, could it? One thing’s for sure: I missed your memo. “Danger, danger, DANGER!” you said, and like the stupid kid I am, I ignored you and plowed ahead anyway.

There's posters everywhere, you know, with your picture and status as an escaped convict plastered underneath in bold, capital letters. It's a drawing of you, more accurately. The sketch artist portrayed you as a fierce looking man. To him you are sullen and bitter and liable to act on it. Well, you've acted on something, just on more tender emotions. Fear. Guilt. Attachment to me.

But you've overcome all of that plenty of times. Why not this time? Why would you avoid me at the last minute? You could've written me, called off the meeting. You know I'd have respected that. Since when was there something we could never, never tell each other? Sure, we couldn't predict when we'd be ready, but...

Whatever. You probably won't even see this letter. I don't know where to send it. Brun Way is a moot destination now. Still, I have so many other questions. How did you escape? Please don't tell me you pulled a stunt from your Enmity and Markus stage days. The other inmates had no part in it, I think. They looked too bewildered, not mischievous at all. And if you come back, won't your sentence be extended? Is solitary confinement a punishment at Brun Way? If so, I doubt you're allowed to receive letters in there, hold a pencil, anything.

And... why fabricate such a longwinded story about relocating and stuff? You sounded so real and convincing. Now I wonder what else you've lied about. Was it to have something to say, to hide just how bad your memory is? Or something else?

I don't know what else to say, myself. It's a good thing the guard who showed me to your cell didn't hear my name. He didn't get to recognize me as the girl writing to you and feel sorry for me, or ask questions. I feel horrible for writing that, even thinking it. But I'm sorry, I can't hide my shame this time.

Wherever you are, I hope you’re okay, Markus. My worry is stronger than my anger. Please understand that I can't help either of those things. But more importantly, please, please be okay. And of course, I hope to hear from you… although I don’t know what hearing from you means anymore. Please don't retreat into total silence. You didn't like when Enmity did that, did you? You don't have to do this. You don't have to run away. We can work it out, and you can be who you want to be still!

Always,
Haley

 

[diamondpearl876]

• Warning for a vague mention of suicide in this letter.
• I had to change the dates of the letters so that the date of their meeting was scheduled to be October 15, not August 15. I got mixed up with old drafts and new ones, accidentally going from September back to August, derp.

FLYING IN THE DARK
[letter twenty-six]

*​

November 23

Markus?

Where are you? What are you doing? Are you okay?

...Markus?

I’m still waiting for a letter from you, over a month later. I look for you everywhere I go, using the escaped convict posters as a guide so I’ll recognize you.

Kenneth was kind, agreeing to forgo a Pokémon Center room and alternating campsites each night in case you ran into us or vice versa. For a couple weeks we hung around the south part of Laverre, near Brun Way. Then the police thought that using their energy to send us to a designated camping spot for trainers was more important than finding you. We settled north, a mile or so from a pokéball factory.

The close placement between the two was no coincidence, Kenneth said. It was an advertising ploy. Under normal circumstances we’d have fallen for it, especially him. But we couldn’t bring ourselves to care or renew our interests in pure sightseeing.

Kenneth didn’t mutter a word about you. His silence might’ve meant that he’d given up on you but felt obligated to indulge in my foolish assumption about you loitering in Laverre. I was afraid to ask. Maybe he was afraid of what I intended to do next. It’s not like I even knew! And I still don’t know! Do I want to find you, meet you face-to-face after all, without glass or bars getting in the way?

To be clear, the idea of meeting you outside of Brun Way doesn’t scare me. I’m scared for you, your future. I’m confused, too, and writing to you nobody to deal with it.

Why not continue using Kenneth as a crutch? If only I could. You see, I rambled to Kenneth, on and on, so much that he got sick of me, I think. He ditched me like he should’ve after that mamoswine ride and now there’s no one to process my thoughts with. ...Okay, logically I’m aware of the real reason why we finally had to part ways. The timing was extra unfavorable, that’s all, which keeps exaggerating my reactions.

Do you remember his purpose in coming to Kalos? He’s searching for his father, right, and his mom back in Aquacorde got a promising lead he has to follow up on. Only he’s gotta physically be there in Aquacorde to do that.

My legs threatened to buckle immediately after he told me. The stress had gotten to be too overwhelming. I forced myself to stand strong anyway, because when had I ever offered or made an effort to keep an eye out for clues on his behalf? How had I contributed to the case of his long lost father? All I’d accomplished there was the pretense of being a companion. In reality I held him back from his main goals. Ugh, Markus, I couldn’t even tell you what the lead was that he left me for, that’s how preoccupied I was about myself…

Sweet as ever, more considerate than anyone I’ve known—not counting my grandmother, of course—Kenneth offered me his volbeat again before he set off. Oh, technically the volbeat’s registered in his mom’s name, she’s just been aiming to rehome it and figured Kenneth had a likely shot of finding someone qualified during his travels. See, I paid attention to some of his problems! Anyway, the point is, I’m flattered Kenneth thinks of me as a good enough trainer, but again I refused to take the volbeat.

Sure, it would’ve been like getting to keep a part of him for myself, but it seemed to me that Kenneth was just trying to avoid inflicting on his mom the relationship he has with Donmel: avoiding eye contact with each other, becoming accustomed to silence, tension thicker than dust hanging in the air… Well, all of them together remind me of you and Enmity. I sincerely hope they reconcile while they still have the chance. Accepting the volbeat would’ve meant depriving them of that chance.

All I could gift to him on his way out was my thanks, said in a thousand different ways but all equal in sincerity. He waved me off, unaware of the specifics he’d done. I recited them for him, as many as I could remember: reassuring me that Ribbons would be okay from overexertion, listening without judgment, listening while judging me but kind enough to be honest about it and willing to change his opinion if he had a reason to, the soft look in his eyes whenever he worried about me, which was often, and so much more!

When I was done with my speech, I was thoroughly out of breath. His first response was to whistle, then he shook his head and frowned. I added that I learned a thing or two about being ambivalent and accepting it, whereas most people cling to one side of themselves and repress the other.

“I didn’t know you were that observant, or I’d have felt more self-conscious all this time,” he said, laughing. “I’m kidding, really. I’m grateful to have someone who cares so much. Let’s meet up again soon, yeah? Write me in the meantime. I’ll write you back, I swear it.”

I couldn’t help but want to hug him after he opened up another avenue of communication between us, so I did. I admit I cried a little, too. He didn’t comment on the wet marks on his clothes.

He went on, “Whatever you do from here, I support it.” A pause. “And, to be honest, I would’ve written Markus a letter myself, thanking him for being a rock in your life. Now he’s lost the opportunity for a privilege like that.”

Still, not once did Kenneth contemplate abandoning the lead on his father to stay with me. I admired his confidence and felt my own strengthened, because that’s what’s gotten me this far. It’s what got me out of Anistar in the first place, even!

So I’ve been alone now for two weeks. I’m lonely, but not completely lonely. My pokémon have been coddling me and ecstatic about having less competition over me. And it makes no sense that I still feel you’re near somehow, too, but I do.

I’d make bets on what you’re thinking these days. You’re thinking I should follow Kenneth’s method and give up on you for sure. You’re thinking I should get back to my journey, leave Laverre and push you out of my mind forever. Oh, and that I should focus on my friendship with Kenneth… you know, because you haven’t a clue about his leaving me yet.

It hurts, Markus. I don’t have to blame you and demand that you come to your senses for all this to hurt. I understand yet want to cry at the same time because reason isn’t helping and my mind keeps pulling tricks to make sure I stay sad.

We’ve conquered a lot of tricks and illusions together, you know! Past ones like the hypno and the claydol in Frost Cavern and anticipated ones like Ribbons’s supposed power. Do you think you can conquer another and write to me...?

I should’ve grasped how seriously you felt about the “dance” between tricks and illusions. No way could you have described it so elegantly and deeply without personal experience attached. I’m sorry. Maybe I could’ve prevented this, convinced you that meeting me would’ve benefited you more than escaping...

You planned on escaping long before October 15, didn’t you? Why else would you analyze Ribbons’s mythical power and ponder its existence when you hate psychic-types? Because Ribbons would’ve warned me if he foresaw you wrecking our chance of meeting that day. And it’s curious that Olympia never mentioned this power when she was dead set on teaching me a lesson or two before I left Anistar. Ribbons was just a natu then, but evolutions are common during journeys.

Mostly I’m avoiding the main thing on my mind, that is, where could you have gone after escaping? To Professor Sycamore’s lab, a punishment and a reminder of how much you loved your starters? To your old move tutor, if he’s still around, for a score? Or would you stomp up to him and yell over what he did to you?

There’s a possibility you went to search for Enmity. You know how I wanted you to meet my pokémon, too? Maybe you wanted the same, and the thought of it not happening drove you crazy. Your mourning over Enmity’s grown a lot lately, and I don’t think that because you’ve grown comfortable in sharing secrets with me. Your pain’s seemed starker somehow, really pronounced. Like you saw Enmity physically next to you but knew he was an apparition and you hurt tenfold over it.

I wish this were a trick of yours, I do. Or an illusion, whatever. I don’t know what to do with the knowledge that this happened, and worse, that it happened to me and you. Kenneth doesn’t count.

Every burnt leaf that crunches under my feet, I’m reminded of where I am. In Laverre. Supposed to meet the friend I’ve adamantly defended from everyone. Maybe… I’m ready to admit this is precisely why writing a prisoner appealed to me. Short of dying, how could you leave and abandon me? Why would you? I’m so sorry, I took advantage of that. I deserved showing up to no one.

For the first time ever, I’m jealous of my mom. She handles drugs all day, safe drugs and addictive drugs both. In her shoes I’d stare at the bottles and vials, empathetic for the people who say they don’t want to be here anymore, don’t want their pain to go on. I want to be here in Laverre and yet I don’t. So where do I want to be instead? Nowhere, absolutely nowhere. (I don’t have the resoluteness needed to do anything about it, don’t worry.)

For how long, I don’t know, but I’ll stay here. There’s no deadline for my trainer journey, no pressure to return home and make pretend peace with everyone. My pokémon, especially Ribbons, are tuning in to their wild selves to act as lookouts. They take turns napping throughout the day because their fear of danger skyrockets at night, naturally.

I haven’t the energy to find even short-term housing for us in a safe building, but once in a while I’ve bought a Center room to shower and do laundry and whatnot. My pokémon’s schedules stay the same even then. I hear Ribbons mumbling the word “dark” a lot for some reason, but when I tell him that there’s no need to worry too much just because Kenneth’s not here, he shakes his head. It’d be the same with Kenneth, he says. He can’t find the words to explain otherwise. Or is there something he won’t say, as a way of protecting me?

Their paranoia’s got me on edge, I think. Half the time it feels like I’m being watched and followed. When I round a block, sometimes I sense someone right behind me, someone not bothering to put any distance between us to hide their presence better. They feel so close that they could be riding on my shoulders, like Seybs would.

I turn and hope it’s you, always. And always it’s nothing. I’d wing it once I found you, I decided, because what’s most important is knowing you’re okay.

It bears repeating. Please be okay, Markus.

Please.

 

[diamondpearl876]

FLYING IN THE DARK
[letter twenty-seven]

*​

November 29

Haley,

I leave this letter in your bag, mixed with all the others. How long will it take you to notice? Two, three days at most, I suspect. You’ve been rereading our correspondence an unreasonable amount these days. Ignoring the winter weather creeping up on you.

I’d hoped to sustain a normal letter exchange with you. I hadn’t counted on you arriving at the prison regardless. The posters across Laverre were an oversight on my part. It can’t be helped. Neither can we.

I write this last letter to you solely because I have but one request. Yes, after all this. After all of everything. I must abandon my dignity and take the risk. Anything is of value to me at this point. Anything to differentiate me from the illusions I forged and festered until they colored my entire world. Then a part of yours.

My request? Never call me human again. Mark is dead.

I’m sorry to tattle on myself like this, but it’s the truth, exactly what you have been itching for. Mark arguably wasn’t human, either. I know for sure that I’m not. Whatever I am, I need to find out. I am going to find out. That is why I escaped. An easy feat, that. The details are irrelevant. Only the why matters, and now you know. Why.

That courtesy should still be part of my repertoire is shameful. For you it must be torture in disguise. Rest assured that I deliberated for many hours in my mind whether to write and say goodbye to you. I turned the idea over like eggs on a spatula, into a sizzling frying pan. Like the ones at Brun Way’s cafeteria. I did not like those eggs. Consuming them, I mean. I never grew accustomed to such foods. But I liked the sound, its familiarity. The sound of things changing. Forever. Until it is just gone. Something in me is just gone. Has been gone a long, long time.

Like I said, I must find it, what’s gone. I must find me alone. When I find me I will be alone, with only my mistakes trailing behind me, literal skeletons.

Do not write to me again. Do not try to follow me, find me, convince me, change me. Yes, leave Laverre, do that, please! You’re concerning yourself over nobody. I know, that’s what you do, concern yourself over others. Over me. Over Kenneth. Over your pokémon, like that goddamn xatu. Won’t you take care of yourself for once, please?

Especially don’t concern yourself over someone you barely know. Case in point: Is it Markus or Mark? Do you remember his real name, not what you call him on a whim? What you read goes in your brain and out again an hour later. It happens for every human. Biases seep into your collective image of another person. Then social interactions become controlled by expectations of who you and the other person should be. If a human changes… actualizes themself into someone praise-worthy... it is done quietly, over years and years and years. Because humans don’t evolve the way pokémon do, quick and striking. How are humans the superior beings?

I’m not subject to such nonsense. Because I’m not human, and I’m not sure I ever was. Not in the sense you think I am or want me to be, anyway. But how I dreamed… To be what you needed, so that you would be what I needed, it was a dream. Unfortunately, I’ve awakened. It no longer feels as if I’m walking in my sleep.

Don’t argue me on this point, Haley. I know you want to. Your voice rings in my ears now, replacing the curves and ink of handwriting. I hear your argument, the futility of it. Don’t you see? The multiplicity of my illusions, terrible, cascading and taunting and sitting right outside my cell door?

Well, not anymore, re: the cell door part. Now they can touch my skin. The dark fails to serve as a cloak. The moon rises right where I left her the previous night, staring. Unperturbed. Her concern is for the sun, to count the minutes until it is time to trade places in the sky and watch over us puzzle pieces. They have what we wanted. The perfect mutual relationship. The ability to read each other’s thoughts and provide what the other needs, nonverbally.

If I were a flying-type, I think I’d go on up to the moon. Or the sun, if fire energy lay within me as well. A talonflame, like Joey’s… It’s not impossible.

Alas, I’d humbly sacrifice anything to switch places with the moon or the sun. Preferably the moon. I could stare down and bask in silence, my home. Without words we would all understand that this is a time for humans to sleep and a time for wild pokémon to hunt. Complement and carry the other forever as a comrade.

It’s not impossible. Well, some of it is. I cannot replace the moon. But a talonflame, hmm... I must die again anyway. Not permanently, just enough to live a different life...

Do you see yet, Haley? Do you? At the very least, Ribbons has.

I’ve spun and spewed so many lies. Truly, though, I am grateful for all you’ve done for me… for Mark… for both of us. Out of all the prisoners Joey could’ve identified to inspire you to action, it had to be the one trapped by choice. Mark himself is at no fault for this choice, that is, how I stole his personality, identity, appearing, speaking style. Warped it all to my liking and for convenience’s sake. Easy, when your only conversations are with strangers who have, at most, read about you in bullet list form.

You know what? There’s little to lose, so I can be more specific now. Thank you for the opportunity to use my voice. My voice, that forgotten thing which wilted from disuse over the years. How could I not take someone else’s when the chance emerged?

But no longer, not with this guilt ripping at me. You know me—no, Mark—who now?—so well that I couldn’t stand the thought of you arriving at the correctional center, watching me, sensing something wrong. There was no need to additionally measure my physical movements until that meeting arrangement, and, trying, memories of me and him flooded back. I was unprepared. Too much, too much!

Even if you hadn’t noticed something amiss, Ribbons would have. He’s right: I mean danger to him. To anyone. Me, a dark-type cowering from a psychic, flipping the advantage around to avoid being exposed… In that respect my disappearing act was, in fact, a performance designed for a target audience. As you feared.

You asked once about who flies your letters to you. A bird belonging to the warden, perhaps? An inmate’s flying-type, designated to serving Brun Way until his incarceration ends? No. It’s been me, disguised as different species. This way, you’d not feel compelled to grow attached to any one bird.

Before departing, I’d create an illusion of my Mark form and send him into bed for a nap. Careful not to overlap with parts of his schedule which required him to change locations. And when no one was looking, off I’d go, slipping through the bars to freedom. To a brief moment with you, over and over. When you mentioned meeting in person, I thought, We already have, what could you mean? Like a fool.

By the way, Haley, following the rules was rough. Your lucky coin, your letters, none of it should’ve been in danger of inspection by the guards. All of it should’ve been all mine to sneak in and hoard. A treasure chest of goods in plain sight, and no one would suspect a thing. But I could not predict when Ribbons would arrive, where I’d be… I have limits to my illusions, you know. Luckily, the guards’ baseline is the belief that all inmates are ungrateful. Markus Samaras, he receives a lot of mail, but he never sends anything back! Typical inmate behavior, that.

So on that level I was safe. Sure, it would’ve been safe to have Brun Way send my letters to you their way, but I wanted so little in life that when I wanted to mingle with you and your team and Kenneth, if just for a moment, I made it happen. Those moments accumulated and suddenly I was asking for the world when I deserved none of it.

You might not believe me. But you missed my slip up a few letters back! How I mentioned your hair’s blondness. How else could I have known? And ask Ribbons, ask him! Ribbons, noble Ribbons, has continually sacrificed himself to fly your letters to me. The sickness he suffered as a natu was not due to a lack of physical prowess, Haley, but of extensive anxiety. Knowing he was headed to a place with a dark-type in the vicinity, unable to retreat to the safety of his trainer, his team, his pokéball if attacked… But he was unable to refuse you such an important favor.

Oh, I can’t blame him for loving you so much.

More confessions. The real Markus Samaras, born on July 10 during a year where the drug use statistics skyrocketed, probably. Quadruplets: Delphox, Greninja, Chesnaught, and him, all faking aliveness in their respective ways. They wore death on their bodies at all hours of the day. Still, because Mark spoke highly of the others, I wish I could have met them. I wondered if he’d talk highly of me if I were gone, too. I dreamed often about going anywhere else.

Honestly, Mark came from an okay home. Sad, but not unbearable. He was left to fend for himself, in locating, identifying, describing his emotions. They were tumultuous. His parents could glance at him as a tornado ripped through his insides, his brain circuits. And they did not notice. Perhaps this knack led him down the acting route? There remain big gaps like this that I will never be able to fill for you, let me say now. It’s abhorrent as it is, the way I twisted the truths I did know into something unrecognizable to me but recognizable for you.

Cue again winded descriptions of Mark at high school, then breeder school, then training and the move tutor, buying my egg and trying to “start over”… Or not. What you’re dying to know, assuming you’ve processed who I really am by this point, is how the switch happened. So I shall jump to that and

Wait. No, allow me this last indulgence, will you? Allow me to tell you about my time together with Mark, from my point of view. My early days with him were unremarkable, thus eschewed from my memory once we established a routine and revealed deeper aspects of ourselves. Cue a skip to your commonly asked questions, then.

I didn’t exaggerate his worries about my muteness. Under the influence, he thought demons possessed my vocal cords. He loathed psychic-types, yes, but for my sake was willing to collaborate with psychic-types to communicate with the demons and exorcise them.

There was no need. Mark made silence comfortable. He fostered an environment for silence to be used the way it should be. Silence allows you to give others the precious gift of time, and attention. Mark spun tales all the time. I listened. He wasn’t deliberately trying to entertain me. Just enjoyed the sound of his own voice, and the sight of eyes on him rather than past him. The latter reminded him bitterly of his parents.

Why not use my voice once, once, to convince him I was okay? Not sick? Mark himself was sick, as you know. His starters became sick. Died by his hands, in a way. His parents were sick, deprived of the ability to provide emotional support for their only son. Died of old age, unaware of the damage they’d wrought. To reveal I was a normal zorua, free of the concerns that plagued all areas of his life, was to wholly desert him and shatter the worldview he’d built for decades. I was afraid that I’d be the one to send him over the edge, closer to drugs, those inanimate destructive things, into full death.

What else was true? Hmm… We did perform a lot of shows. In Lumiose, to earn money. The streets there were overcrowded always. So much so that one week I didn’t spot someone lurking nearby to steal our tip bucket, also overcrowded as a strategic way to get people to watch us. Unable to score, Mark suffered from withdrawal symptoms. Worse than he ever had before. He hallucinated voices, sights, smells, even tastes… Unable to undo the illusions bombarding him, I could only empathize in horror and suffer, too. And not once did he ask me to create new illusions for his sake, break the existing ones. Was it polite consideration for my sake or a way of avoiding my assumed nature, my deviousness? The evidence supported either conclusion: his treating me like a fragile object and the frequent training sessions he held in the hopes of me evolving.

That is not to say that I was not true to my devious zorua nature, ever. My favorite stage performance involved a daring illusion I concocted alone. Obviously, Mark was unaware beforehand. How would he react? I had to know. I had to break the predictability of his life once. To catch a glimpse of himself should he tried to fix his life. He’d forgive me by the end of it, he who accepted the majority of my shortcomings simply because I was not a stranger to him.

Mark claimed to the crowd before us—bustling, chafing each other’s shoulders, taunting anyone who could hear with the belief that we’d flop—that I’d breathe fire hotter and brighter than any real fire-type. Part of the trick was the assumption that our audience possessed little to no experience with fire-types. In overcrowded Lumiose, after all, residents cannot own fire-types. Trainers must contain theirs, even the dual types, in a pokéball. Wild ones that stray within the city limits are chased away.

I’d been practicing my flamethrower, right, so I was ready. I inhaled greatly. Felt the smoke fill up my lungs and surely cut five years off my lifespan. And when I exhaled, the flames blanketed the stage. Faltering, a few sparks licked and melted the wood beneath our feet a tad. Not that anyone could see. The audience was blinded, shielding their eyes. Which stirred the slumbering adrenaline in them. I had until the brightness dissipated to prepare to strike.

I couldn’t cry out. So I faked several alarming facial expressions to convey to those who opened their eyes that, ah, I couldn’t control the fire after all. I jerked the flames this way and that, a feat I had fled from Mark in the night to perfect. I could control the shape of the flames as well now. I made them flicker and hiss and bounce up and down. Threatening to scatter anywhere, on anyone.

The charade had to end, of course. All charades do. I summoned my rain dance technique, which we’d also practiced for emergencies. The fire, doused, made swirling smoke patterns. Like translucent fireworks. Then people knew this was indeed the performance, everything up till the blackened sky lit up again with its various shades of blue.

Mark was stressed. He held a forced smile while half the crowd stomped away in dismay, the other half congratulating us with cash. Afterward he coddled me, dubbed me a genius, the best and most ruthless partner he’d been dreaming of...

And now Mark is dead. Dead dead dead.

Balancing the facts and fictions of his life, my life, heavied my mind greatly. Some missteps were purposeful, to see if you’d catch on. I brought myself up in conversation so many times. Grieving for myself. But from the point of view of Mark, how he’d grieve for me, if he would. Emotionally distant sums him up well. And for a friendship which relies on a pure emotional connection, I had to improvise and improvise and improvise…

Cognitive overload. I’d felt it a long while, my body wanting to evolve. The daringness of the performance I described above was the first sign to tell me I was nearing the inevitable. Mark hoped for it, longed for it, but missed it. I only let myself change when I received your first letter. Before then I’d just grit my teeth past the physical pain.

Logic. I was never in danger of losing you, of you leaving. No matter how this played out. I am like you. My parent, Mark, told me that flaws were abundant in everyone but they could improve. And he wouldn’t go as long as I was actively working on the ones that affected my performances. But he has gone.

When your letter arrived, I’d hoped that it was him. My trainer, my friend, my Mark, had he come to say hello to me again? From the dead! How? Would he outline this trick of his for me, please?

But the real trick lies with me. He died when I was breathing through a body just like his own. Down to the tiniest group of molecules in his body. I thought that I must help him live on literally. No one else would remember him. His parents, his starters? Impossible. Other friends, other family? None.

Therefore, I was Mark, I had to be be Mark. Enmity, he was the dead one, I thought. By convincing you that he’d be gone for good, I’d hoped to convince myself.

To no avail now. You see, we did not have enough resources to expand our names outside of Lumiose. No known connections to drugs except in Laverre, and not enough time to get there before withdrawal would set in. Our performances grew stale in Lumiose’s eyes. Famous, international actors started traveling through and were the priority of people’s time and attention. Mark would promise dealers he’d pay them back eventually, but for now, desperation had a hold on him, wouldn’t they spare him a night of the desire to die? Those who said no, he stole from.

Someone, unknown, caught on and reported him. The cops stalked after him. Also disguised and at night, to blend in with our natural habitat. Mark was sleeping blissfully between two empty garbage bins in the alleyway separating the local press and a battle restaurant. I sensed an off presence and woke him up, signaled for him to run. In his drugged state, running was a colossal struggle. The police would’ve caught up to him in no time, and that’d be it for him, for us! He always told me the city would separate us if given the chance…

He did not look back to see where I was. So I did not get his permission or see the disapproval creep on his face, whichever would’ve happened. I stayed behind, transformed into him, summoning the zoroark energy I felt lurking in me to ensure the police would be fooled. Yes, they arrested me instead, unaware of the truth. I thought only about how a human’s skin is cold, and the handcuffs on my wrists, Mark’s wrists, was even colder, and how I’d saved him from that.

Mark adopted a pseudonym, for a while. He wrote to me. Much like you. Too afraid to approach anywhere near Lumiose, then Laverre once I transferred there. And I? I was incapable of leaving the prison freely like I can now, thanks to my unevolved form. So I waited for Mark to bail me out, because he promised he would. He’d devised a plan to save money, he wrote. The right way this time, a surefire way. I had hope until my competency hearing came and went (I was struggling to act human and aroused suspicion), then my trial came and went, then sentencing, then several quiet months...

I assume that he overdosed in hiding, no one to search for him or identify him. I’d have heard about it if anyone stumbled into his corpse and reported it. My illusion would’ve been shattered by his fingerprints, by science.

So no, to be clear, I don’t know his fate for sure. But if he’s not dead, why hasn’t he come for me or written to me? Why has he abandoned me to live out the full extent of my sacrifice? I could leave and search for him, yes, I’m aware. My assumption is safer. Keeps my heart intact, cracked as it’s gotten.

My life was predictable until you wrote to me. No hello from Mark, but hello from a stranger instead? When my schedule, my decisions, my clothes, everything was decided for me, and I could say what I’d be doing years from today’s date and time? I could’ve ignored you. Indeed I’d forgotten how to read and write by that point. They were skills I developed solely to communicate with Mark until...

So I tried to learn how again, and it was taking too long, too long, because my body ached and all my energy was sunk into maintaining Mark’s appearance. The more I tried, the more I was suddenly desperate to have you as a companion, however distant, so I evolved in the night. My capacities expanded, I wrote to you successfully and apologized for my apparent rudeness. You know the rest.

Now officially, our letters end here. It’s nothing personal. My life supposedly ended when Mark disappeared/died. Yet my heart keeps beating, and my mind sharpens with each word of yours I read. The whole of me wants more life. Which I will find, as I said, alone. I do not deserve your supposedly unconditional company, least of all yours. Too kind, too genuine, too trusting.

I thank you for leading me as far as you have. For inspiring me to seek sights and sounds, tastes and smells that otherwise would pass me by. That was a goal you succeeded in tenfold. And thank you for being my first experience back into the life of Enmity, albeit through Mark’s name and signature. It only happened because I initially failed at scaring you off. Were you sure? Were you sure? You were sure about a criminal, about Mark. Not me, right? So we should have a chance, you think? Yet I am a criminal in my own right. Not a drug addict, but filled with pathological deceptions and tales long enough to write a dedicated law book about.

I’d say sorry for leaving you alone, but you’re not. You have your flying-types. As for Kenneth, I’m curious to know if he suspected, well, this. How could he have? He was full of surprises, though. Perhaps he would not have wanted to accept the truth, even if he’d put the pieces together. A pokémon, capable of so much language and intelligence he could thoroughly fool numerous humans? Prison workers who reduce a human’s status to that of a monster is not the best example, actually. Still, it would mean that Donmel is capable of the same, and that he’s failed to help his pokémon reach that potential in favor of neglect.

We talked about this plenty, Haley. You will be amazed as you learn how complex your pokémon truly are, now that the language barrier is diminishing. Ribbons will confirm my story. That my letters, for the first time, consist of no illusions or tricks.

In the end I have confessed to you after my request. Why? Out of guilt, no other reason. Use my story as you will. Sell it to the prison, or some tabloid looking for a great headline. You could earn money for handing over my letters and taking part in such an unbelievable experience. Who knows, Mark may come out of hiding then, like I’ve dreamed. Either way, I give you permission to take advantage of me in this way. The downsides and their accompanying burdens are mine to bear.

Thank you again, Haley. I’ll miss you, but this—is—the—space—between—us. No, not wide enough. Let me try again. Drive the point home, wherever that is.



This



is



the



space



between



us.


Goodbye,
En

 

[diamondpearl876]

FLYING IN THE DARK
[letters twenty-eight through thirty-two]

*
​

December 2

Markus,

I’m writing to you because… some things that should never start, do start. They start and then they spiral. Chances slip away, unnoticed half the time. Or for you, all the time.

It’s 5:00 in the morning. The moon’s almost finished trading places with the sun, as usual, and the local birds feel safe enough now to parade across the sky. Unlike me, they’re rested and ready to face the day. I couldn’t sleep last night. Instead I listened to my pokémon snore and dreamed, not of illusions and fantasies, but events that truly happened. It was hard, filtering out images and words my brain wanted to fill in, but I owed it to someone special to be objective. I allowed myself to feel, allowed myself to react, but I could not change what I knew to fit myself and make the pain go away for either of us.

Where are you? Are you okay? Substituting drugs for coffee, maybe? Maybe you’re sitting at your favorite cafe waiting for breakfast, because you’ve managed to stay in one place long enough to find a favorite, and maybe that’ll lead the city you’re in to become that elusive place worthy of being called home.

You already know the alternative. How many years have you been living it, exactly? And that’s assuming you’re even alive...

All I know for certain is that I miss you. I’ve missed you from the day that I first saw your name and decided to write to you. Since then, it’s been like we’ve taken on roles in a stage play, where every time we glance at each other we’re unsure who we are at that exact moment. Where we’re pulled in one direction by our true self, and by an invisible but compelling captor in the other.

I miss you, but I can’t forgive you for what you did to En. What he’s sacrificed for you, all his pain, all his time spent waiting, waiting, waiting for you… You have your reasons all laid out in your mind should guilt ever threaten to overwhelm you, I’m sure. The best I can conclude for myself is that I don’t actually know you as well as I thought I did, and for that and many other things, I’m so, so disappointed. Our letters end here officially indeed.

Goodbye,
Haley

*

December 2

En,

Now that that’s out of the way… Let’s start over. Because I’ve heard a lot about you, En, and I’d love to hear more! Should I call you En? That’s how you signed your letter, though you referred to yourself as Enmity before. So I want to double check before I commit to either one.

I’ve cut up Markus’s letters and saved your parts. You know, the parts where you tried to tell me the truth, your version and view of things, and it all went over my head the first time. Oh, and the second and third and fourth times. I wasn’t exaggerating when I said I reread your letters a lot on the road, which I did not just to pass the time but as a way to enjoy it. I didn’t ignore my surroundings or anything, don’t worry! That was just the only way to bring you with me and Kenneth.

Anyway, now I knew what I was looking for. I distinguished you from Markus pretty easy, and facts that seemed unmemorable made more sense as to why you thought they should stick out more. Then I said goodbye to Markus. I’m weak, it’s true. I can’t handle him knowing what he did to you.

I’ve said I’m sorry a lot lately, I know, you might be sick of it, but I’m sorry. For what, I don’t know anymore? For Markus abandoning you, of course. But it’s more than that. Like, I don’t think you expected me to catch on to you pretending to be Markus. You just hoped I’d run away. So I guess I’m sorry for not running away, because that meant adding to your suffering. Fine, I alleviated it in some ways, but not where they mattered.

I’m also not sorry for not running away. I didn’t force you to confess. You trusted me enough to share that information, didn’t you? If I hadn’t persisted, you’d still be at Brun Way, unaware that you needed to find yourself. Call me naive, but I don’t believe you confessed only because you wanted to test me one last time to see if I’d run. And if you did, well, here I am. I haven’t run and I’m not going to.

I’m planning a picnic with my pokémon a week from today, next Thursday. Without Kenneth to help pool the money, we gotta find some trainers to battle. Then I’ll use any cash we win to buy the food and drinks! And by waiting a few days, you should see this letter and have time to decide if you’ll join us. If you want to and you’re ready, I mean.

The weather’s turning colder, you’re right. I’m not ignoring it! My grandmother’s sending me my winter supplies in the mail. They should be here by Thursday, too. So if you’re cold, I’ll have a blanket for you.

I hope we’ll see you then? Don’t be shy or scared or whatever. Like I said, I want to start over. Don’t you?

~ Haley

*

December 9

We finished cleaning up from the picnic a few minutes ago. Obviously, you didn’t join us, or I wouldn’t need to write to you. You missed out on a great fruit salad! (Yes, Kai’s choice.) There were plenty of jambon-beurres to go around, too. I made extra just in case.

Was it too much to expect you to come out of hiding so soon? Probably. I’m sorry if you feel pressured because of me. I don’t know how else to emphasize that you have a place here, and that I suspect you want to claim it. I fought the urge to chase after you, at least! ...Yeah, I know you were watching as we ate. Ribbons was on alert, eating slower than usual. After my third reminder to eat his food before Kai nabbed it, he told me he sensed the darkness again. What a relief it was to know you were safe! And in Laverre still! I tried to explain to Ribbons what that darkness was in the simplest way I could, and he understands now. Sort of. He’s wary, but he promised not to attack and that he’d be friendly if you joined our team.

Seybs made a passing comment during lunch about my spaciness, which rivals his these days, apparently! Or maybe that’s how I roll now. Kenneth pointed out every absentminded moment of mine he could, when he was around. I wonder if he’s back in Aquacorde right now. He hasn’t written me yet, but he will. My grandmother told me to check the mail again this month, too, without a reason why. I guess I’ll find out why soon enough, huh?

That’s all for now, I think. Remember, we’ll be around if you need us or want to say hi!

~ Haley

*

December 21

En,

It just occurred to me. How we communicate might change completely if you drop by in person. I’m not about to force you to talk, or get frustrated at needing to decipher your gestures. I’m well-versed in that by now! But you can talk, you said so yourself. Do I want to be another person in your life that makes silence comfortable? That sounds too much like replacing Markus, in a way, and we’ve sworn off that. For good reason. I considered performance skits as a lighthearted way to introduce you to my birds, too, but on second thought...

A familiar event happened that reminded me how everything keeps changing. I’d be tempted to look back myself if I didn’t have a responsibility I can’t ignore. My grandmother passed on my address to my dad, who sent me college admission fliers. They went straight into the trash. My grandmother’s own package to me included an apology letter on my dad’s behalf and instructions to talk to the Laverre Center staff. Did you see us head there and come out with her gift, En? An egg! Another one! To celebrate my gym badge achievements, apparently, and the holidays.

The egg resembles, like, a boulder. I wasn’t aware that a rock-type bird existed. (My grandmother wouldn’t send anything but a bird. She knows better!) The egg’s red and yellow, mostly, with flecks of blue and white scattered. During our checkup appointment, Laverre’s Nurse Joy suggested it might be an archen, a species I pretended to know all about and researched later at the local library.

Archen are flightless birds… from historic times. So how could I have the unborn egg of an extinct species? I couldn’t stop reading to find out. Technology’s advanced enough to revive the fossils that archeologists have dug up, and now, the species is being bred to intentionally reestablish and stabilize the population. Whole museums and displays have been built to educate the public about fossil pokémon, why they went extinct, why and how they should be able to survive in today’s world, and how people can help. It’s trainers like me, my grandmother wrote, that have the most power to make their revival possible.

But there’s a catch. Well, actually, first my grandmother asked to write letters to her about the archen’s progress before and after it’s born. For research purposes. Also, other archen have been born and immediately started suffering migraines, so I should watch out for that. Nobody knows why yet for certain, but the one trainer thus far who’s communicated with their archen said that its memory was wack. As in, their archen felt that it possessed memories not belonging to them, maybe their parent’s. My grandmother suspects this phenomenon could be a side effect caused by the revival process. Especially archen who have no communication with their parents, but sense a great need for them or any biological kin, could be more prone to sense these memories.

I should go check on the egg, now that I think about it. The Center’s holding it for observation at no charge until the end of the week. Doesn’t mean I shouldn’t be responsible! And my team’s eager to see each time if their new friend’s hatched yet. Ribbons tries to see through the eggshell. Seybs perches as close as he can get without being yelled at by the nurses; he said that the body heat emanating from him might help. Kai brings fruit offerings with us but eats them himself when no one else does.

Anyway. Off we go! You know where to find us if you get lonely.

~ Haley

*

December 30

En,

Forgive me, but actually, I wish I hadn’t cut up Markus’s letters and thrown the pieces away. I could use his comments about egg breeding, now that I’m on my own. Oh, the nurses handed me a sheet of instructions, but their wording’s so robotic that I feel like I’m caring for a toy rather than an unborn pokémon. How’d I take care of Seybs’s and Ribbons’s eggs? I didn’t, really. I stared at them in excitement while my grandmother did all the hard work. I should’ve been a better student, huh?

We’re still located at the Center, in case you were wondering. We’ve rented out our room through the month, which cost a ton. Trainers can take advantage of a holiday discount, at least. Not that we’ll be celebrating otherwise; it’s too much a reminder of my parents and Joey. For the rest, Seybs and Kai watch over and guard the egg while Ribbons battles for me. He’s my best fighter, so I’m less likely to break even or lose profit. And if something goes awry at the Center, Kai flies to me to warn me. That’s the plan, anyway. Nothing alarming has popped up yet.

Laverre in winter is colder than I expected. The trees stand naked now, and the wind strikes us at full force. Vendors selling gloves and hats and scarves compete with each other at every corner. But you can see all that for yourself now! My point is, why couldn’t my grandmother have gifted me the egg in the summer months? Any higher or lower than 37.5 degrees, and the baby could suffer. Our cheap styrofoam cooler and heating pad⁠—both of which also stole a fair amount of money from my pockets⁠—wouldn’t be enough in this weather. And the air, it’s too dry! Before I leave Seybs and Kai to their duties, I heat up a pan of water and leave a sponge in it, to create humidity. I instructed my birds to watch the thermometer and hygrometer, and they could divide that task up however they want, but if the numbers fluctuate too much, they must find me.

I think Kenneth would be impressed with my system, if I do say so myself. I’m gonna tell him about it, once I’m done writing to you. His first letter arrived to me from Aquacorde, so he made it safely! Most of his letter consists of questions about me and how I’m doing. I plan to pry some information out of him regarding the search for his dad. Not forcefully, of course! I’m just genuinely concerned and interested. It’s time I proved that to him.

I don’t mean to put any pressure on you still. But if you think my system’s flawed or needs tweaking, let me know, okay? You learned a lot from Markus, and I know you’d be a great help.

~ Haley

 

[diamondpearl876]

The final letter! It's been fun. <3 Keep in mind this is a double update, so don't forget to read the above post, too.

FLYING IN THE DARK
[letter thirty-three]

*
​

January 6

All right, Haley, fine. I can’t believe you’re serious about me, but fine. First of all, En is the name I prefer, yes. Second, you and Ribbons are right. Here I am in Laverre, just not near you for the moment. I need a human form to write; my zoroark claws tend to snap pens in half by accident. The only human form I can use without draining all my energy is Mark’s, though, and I refuse to revive in front of you the illusion I vowed to break. As for using my actual voice in lieu of letters, would you give me a short while longer on that?

I helped myself to an empty notebook from the Pokémon Fan Club and fled with it to hide behind the prison. Using the prison as a solitary refuge is not as risky as you’d expect. The police are flocked elsewhere searching for me. The chances of you stumbling upon me here are nil, because why would you come back as long as the wanted posters hang? And the residents of Laverre take care to give this place a wide berth. Besides, the prison is familiar. In a way it’s my home. Nobody there wants me or loves me. Nobody there knows a thing about me. Valerie and Rowe, they were performers in their own right. Bouncer and Eyeball exhausted their worries on themselves. Still, Brun Way is home, a physical address for Mark to find me if he were to find himself in town during his travels.

That farewell letter to Mark was unnecessary, you know. I appreciate it nonetheless, more so than I can say. My letter to you revealing everything was full of story, story, story. The feeling was missing. At least, any feeling present didn’t properly portray the feral rage which clusters inside of me whenever I think about him. I should’ve kept writing until I got it right.

I’ll try again sometime. With my voice, I could say what I want, for as long as I want, and my words would disappear immediately. Alone, I wouldn’t have to be held accountable for the horrible light I’d paint him in. As it stands, if I want to howl, my throat closes up, smothered by all the words he used to say to me. I can vomit them, but there’s always more. I am not allowed any of my own. I relinquished my right to speak, to have an identity. And he was truly fine with that? He made it look so easy, opening and closing one’s heart when convenient.

Could be my battle instincts talking here, but I would’ve paid you to cut into him more, tear him apart. I’d pay you with your lucky coin, another unnecessary offering from you to me, for my luck began the day our friendship was made possible. AZ’s floette was bitter about her revival, remember? She woke up to broken bodies and blood splattered every which way, a wreckage created in her name. Mark would be bitter as well if I revived him into my life, tracked him down and subjected him to my presence again. The difference is that he’d deserve the ensuing barrage of shame.

Of course, I won’t do that. I lost our coin toss and promised to go forward per your request. I can heal otherwise and face Mark’s extinct place in my life without any apology from him. I can learn to forgive myself for lying to him just as well. I wonder, were we ever going to extract the truth from each other? Who lied first? How did he develop illusionist skills rivaling a zorua’s, anyway? Did either of us realize that the kinds of illusions we offered each other were insatiable and that down the road we might’ve been asked to forge and live in an entire fantasy world?

I feel exactly how I felt when I slipped off into one spring night in Lumiose to practice, without Mark knowing. I brought my pokéball with me so that he couldn’t hunt me down if I chose to disappear for good. As if I couldn’t break out of it and make a break for it whenever I wanted. At the end of my training session, it was my pokéball that disappeared instead. I looked everywhere for it in the secluded field, brushing aside clumps of dirt and grass displaced from my attacks. I looked up and down all of Route 16, then suspected that I’d actually left my pokéball with Mark. I tried not to think about what that meant as I combed through our belongings. I never saw my pokéball again—good riddance, my psyche tormented me in there—but I found Mark’s stash of drugs and dirty needles.

I’d always hoped my pain would be useful. That I could shoot it out of me rather than allow to engulf the last vestige of hope in me. Today is that day, Haley. You and I, we can’t stay in Laverre forever. It’s such a dreary place for me and surely for you now. I’ve been dreaming about being anywhere else again. So, heads or tails? Flip heads and we go west. We could explore the seas in Coumarine and Shalour, or, if you’d rather save that for the summer, we could visit the museums of archaeological artifacts in Geosenge. Flip tails and we go… not east, not to Anistar and where you’ve already traveled. Let’s say we’d go south, quickly past Lumiose, to Aquacorde so I can perhaps meet Kenneth formally. Oh, and I heard there’s plenty of annual winter festivals held in Snowbelle.

I want to find me, and I could be anywhere. I have no leads to go on. Thus I’m content with either result. Even if I remain lost, these letters of ours will serve a new purpose as receipts. These receipts can be handed to anyone as proof of your seemingly endless love for me, and my willingness to watch the chips in my armor, thick as it was, fall away. I don’t know about you, but I think I’ll continue to read these receipts when I sense that life’s playing tricks on me. Please keep them safe.

Are you okay with this, truly? A stupid question, maybe, but I am not a battler and I cannot be bound by another ball if my previous one wasn’t destroyed. And as a warning, I’m not inclined to go easy on you. You focus your fortitude outward for the benefit of others until resentment replaces your feelings of goodwill. We cannot reach that point, whether it’d be your fault or mine. I refuse to have a second trainer who neglects herself always.

You’re faring much better in the winter weather, now. The snowflakes clinging to Laverre’s leafless trees glitter in the sunlight and obscure my view of you and your team at times, but I get the gist of things. When the ice crackles beneath your feet, you don’t flinch, you march on. You check the white watch on your wrist constantly; soon you’ll sense when a half hour passes without conscious effort. How much longer until that egg hatches, anyway? If you’ve told your birds, I did not hear. The wind rarely eases up here, and its sharp whistle hounds my ears.

Whenever it hatches, caring for the baby archen is where the real challenge begins. You had competent help in incubating the egg, no worries there. From what I remember of Mark’s ramblings about the topic, catching and taming it from the get go is essential to creating a positive environment when it rests in there. Those were facts, not part of my tall tales. A restful pokémon is healthier, happier, stronger. Of course, experiences outside of its pokéball will matter, but you’re perfectly prepared in that regard. You’ll mostly have to struggle with keeping the archen warm, really warm, while traveling until its feathers grow in proper. Or until spring arrives, whichever comes first.

How, you ask? And how would you know if the archen’s getting sick or discontent or whatever else? I won’t tell you here. Later. Then I’ll know exactly what to say when I approach you. Perhaps the archen will not hatch for another month, in which case I will be patient a while longer. I just feel that I’m less likely to falter and find comfort in silence if I start off with confidence. I know you understand.

So, are you ready? Once again, our letters end here. Words only from now on.

Sincerely,
En