SPOILER ALERT FOR TAC!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
I look at you and I see your heart.
It’s a nice heart, but it’s cold, determined. You can eject the occasional spear of witty humor, but mostly your heart means business. And I mean business. You are your father, at the worst of times.
But sometimes, at the best of times, there’s that spark. Like that moment. You said you would not be beaten, and meant it. By that jackass, I believe your words were.
He lost. He died. You won. You live. Yet you have an illness. Sometimes I get a sick satisfaction of calling Trouble Trubs, or from sneaking slime from a swear toad’s belly into his sim-coffee. But with him, the satisfation is short. With you…well, you don’t drink sim-coffee. You prefer tea.
I remember our conversation.
“But Holly,” you protested as I shoved the drink toward you. “I simply detest sim-drinks.”
“It’s about time you tasted real tea,” I told you. You were sitting on the edge of the bed in your cell. Not exactly a wooden plank, either–it’s a luxurious, spacious bed, feathery pillows and water mattress. The room has the bed, a minifridge, a bathroom complete with a sink, a tub and a shower. Even a mud bath, which you delicately rejected. There are two sofas and a dining table. When you’re taken to your therepy sessions, you are reluctant to leave this place, as I understand that Orion’s taken a great liking to it.
You drank the tea. You smiled. And you never refused a cup after that.
So, Arty. Trouble, he’s mean, to you escpecially, but I love him anyway. You, I’m kind of wary of after Orion. You know.
But whenever I visit you, I see you straining. Don’t think I don’t notice, either. You’re keeping Orion back, aren’t you? Yeah, that’s what you’re doing. When he sees me he wants to talk to me directly.
These words coming out of your mouth, using your voice, sounded…weird. That’s the only word for it. Weird. I drew the line at fair lady, but…for some reason, I felt a tingle in the pit of my stomach when you said my princess.
I squeeze your fingers, and Arty, they aren’t different than before. You’ve been through a particularily bad shock-therepy session today, and you were sore. When you staggered back into here like a drunk gnome, I had to laugh. But when your head hit the pillow and you were instantly asleep, I wondered where I would be if you hadn’t done what you did. I’d probably be dead. Briar may not have had a reason to take over Haven, but Opal’s a different matter, and as for Turnball…
And if you hadn’t done it, I would never have realized how much I love a certain man.
So Arty…I thought I’d never say this, but thanks for kidnapping me.