A/N: Just wrote this up because the urge struck me. Tell me what you think.

Disclaimer: Not Maureen Johnson, silleh.

The Thirteenth Envelope

Hey, Ginny,

So I guess this is the final bow.

You're back in England, aren't you? I hope you are, because if this went the way i added it up to be, you're going to be pretty close to out of cash soon or now and I don't think another plane ticket is on the budget. But, hoping you're in England or are ready to be there soon, I have just a few things left to say to you. I understand if maybe you're a little ticked off at me for leaving you and then sending you off on a wild goose chase that doesn't lead to anything.

But I think what I wanted really, was for my perfect sisters' little girl to see a little bit of the world that I experienced before I was gone. A place of And this is going to sound really bad, but in this envelope, there's a selfish request from an immature woman who never knew how to settle down.

I'm dead, Gin. By the time you're reading this, I'm dead. And it's a little creepy to be receiving letters from your dead aunt, but still. But before I died, I ran off to Europe and fell in love and met my idol and lived in Paris, losing brain cells by the day from paint fumes.

But I have lived in America my whole life, craving the mystique and antiquity of Europe. And I won't lie, Gin, London and Paris and Amsterdam – they were lovely, but I've lived in new, brash, loud America my whole life, the place where even the largest cities in it can only claim to be loud and rude. So I'm going to ask you one last favor.

Can I get you to look for a middle ground? Find me somewhere old, somewhere mysterious and beautiful in America, for me? My ashes are with Charlie. He won't tell you if you don't ask, but he'll give them to you. Scatter them in your place that you find for me.

You don't have to rush out and do it right this second, and if you just take the remnants of me to places you vacation to find somewhere suitable, I'd be so happy. I just don't know I'd be able to sleep happily for eternity, moldering away in Charlie's closet. And I don't think he will either, no matter how much he says to the contrary.

Love,

Your Runaway Aunt.