Part One: Time's Captive

I haven't got much time. Someone just knocked on my door and told me I've got less than three turns left before-before- drat, I must get my act together. If the words are blurred together because of these stupid, stupid tears then all this would have been for nothing.

Nothing.

Nothing.

Nothing.

Another knock. This time somebody else yelling for me to stop crying, or else- I won't repeat their threats. I don't want you to know what's happening to me, here in this room. I don't want anybody to know-especially you. You. You. You.

Write a letter, she'd said. A letter to the person who haunts my every living breath, whose image floats before my eyes when I sleep and when I wake, whose loving voice whispers hopes and dreams and secrets every time a breeze flits in through the open window.

It's been three weeks since- and so much has happened that a letter will not suffice. I'll do my best- memory evades me sometimes, so I'll write down whatever comes to mind. I'll get somebody to number the sequence, so you won't be lost as you read through this.

But first, I want to write about us. Because then I can move forward with our memories as I write about the-other things.

You will always be the light that guides me home.

Always.