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theripperAh, poor William. With so many interruptions, he probably hasn’t been able to focus on his work at all today. Every hour or so, a pigeon has found its way to him with something new to deliver.
By now, courier pigeons are a terribly antiquated form of communication, save for the rare circumstance. As such, it might’ve struck the reaper as odd, but their unnamed sender would have become increasingly obvious— if not immediately. After all, the very first arrival wasn’t a message at all, but instead, a single red camellia.
On this date, for the past two-hundred and fifty years, Grell has left gifted him the very same flower. A single stem, left atop his desk, as a reminder; “you’re the flame in my heart, the love of my life.” For all the attention she showers him with, at any given opportunity, it is a simple, albeit heartfelt gesture.
The deliveries to follow weren’t nearly as simple, however. There was a sketch made, of the two of them, upon their graduation - William standing, a hand resting on the back of a chair, on which Grell was seated. Her body is titled toward his, legs relaxed and crossed at the ankles. Her body language certainly expressed her interest in William, and an unusual sense of ease about him. After, a note That he had left her, seemingly addressing a work issue, but also, an uncommon familiarity in its language— perhaps, even friendly. Early photographs of them both, at social events (a.k.a. “optional” work parties) - stolen snapshots of Grell kissing his cheek, and the like - intermittently mixed into an assortment of trinkets, ticket stubs, letters - all marking important turns in their tumultuous friendship over the years.
And then, this:
“December 16, 1799
— I had sensed myself falling for you, but
on this day, you swept my feet out from
under me entirely.
Unapologetically.
And now?
I’ve come to need you, as one might need
air to breathe. My admiration for you fills
my chest, and fans the flame of my heart.
It swells— threatens to consume me—
though I welcome the warmth.
But a small comfort, when you are not near.
You consider yourself to be more like ice,
I know— and frigid, you surely can be—
though, I know that you are so much more.
If you are ice, and I, the inferno
Perhaps you will ease beneath my touch,
and flow freely, at last -
just as you might quiet the blaze that I
leave in my wake.
Or are you the very ground that tethers
me to this earth?
Surely, you are my world.
My everything.
My dearest William♥️”
The following hour, he receive a much more simple note— a request to meet Grell atop the roof where they completed their trial.
Should he comply, he will be met with a beautiful sight; dozens of lit candles placed amongst what appears to be hundreds of blossomed red camellias, warm against the backdrop of twilight. As for Grell, she wears a slightly more subdued, deeper shade of red suit, though her lipstick, neck bow, and heels rival the vividness of the flowers strewn about them. Her hair has been trimmed the shortest it’s been since the 1920’s - and her makeup, of course, is immaculate! Clearly, she’s put quite a bit of effort into this evening, from all angles.
And, well, if he decides not to show… she’ll wait there for him all night!
By now, courier pigeons are a terribly antiquated form of communication, save for the rare circumstance. As such, it might’ve struck the reaper as odd, but their unnamed sender would have become increasingly obvious— if not immediately. After all, the very first arrival wasn’t a message at all, but instead, a single red camellia.
On this date, for the past two-hundred and fifty years, Grell has left gifted him the very same flower. A single stem, left atop his desk, as a reminder; “you’re the flame in my heart, the love of my life.” For all the attention she showers him with, at any given opportunity, it is a simple, albeit heartfelt gesture.
The deliveries to follow weren’t nearly as simple, however. There was a sketch made, of the two of them, upon their graduation - William standing, a hand resting on the back of a chair, on which Grell was seated. Her body is titled toward his, legs relaxed and crossed at the ankles. Her body language certainly expressed her interest in William, and an unusual sense of ease about him. After, a note That he had left her, seemingly addressing a work issue, but also, an uncommon familiarity in its language— perhaps, even friendly. Early photographs of them both, at social events (a.k.a. “optional” work parties) - stolen snapshots of Grell kissing his cheek, and the like - intermittently mixed into an assortment of trinkets, ticket stubs, letters - all marking important turns in their tumultuous friendship over the years.
And then, this:
“December 16, 1799
— I had sensed myself falling for you, but
on this day, you swept my feet out from
under me entirely.
Unapologetically.
And now?
I’ve come to need you, as one might need
air to breathe. My admiration for you fills
my chest, and fans the flame of my heart.
It swells— threatens to consume me—
though I welcome the warmth.
But a small comfort, when you are not near.
You consider yourself to be more like ice,
I know— and frigid, you surely can be—
though, I know that you are so much more.
If you are ice, and I, the inferno
Perhaps you will ease beneath my touch,
and flow freely, at last -
just as you might quiet the blaze that I
leave in my wake.
Or are you the very ground that tethers
me to this earth?
Surely, you are my world.
My everything.
My dearest William♥️”
The following hour, he receive a much more simple note— a request to meet Grell atop the roof where they completed their trial.
Should he comply, he will be met with a beautiful sight; dozens of lit candles placed amongst what appears to be hundreds of blossomed red camellias, warm against the backdrop of twilight. As for Grell, she wears a slightly more subdued, deeper shade of red suit, though her lipstick, neck bow, and heels rival the vividness of the flowers strewn about them. Her hair has been trimmed the shortest it’s been since the 1920’s - and her makeup, of course, is immaculate! Clearly, she’s put quite a bit of effort into this evening, from all angles.
And, well, if he decides not to show… she’ll wait there for him all night!
