[2 - Bravo] James v. Jordoom

[Kaez]

A favored means of pulling a reader into a setting is by actually presenting them with pieces of writing from within the setting itself. Whether in the form of journal entries, historical excerpts, or religious poetry, the mere act of reading literature that is not about the world, but within the world adds an entirely new layer of depth and dimension, transporting the audience into the setting and vividly and viscerally exposing them to the world the author has created.

Your topic is: MEDICINE
Your restriction: Must be written as an in-setting personal correspondence.

[Deleted]

To my dearest Falista,

I am writing to you from a distant planet, Trionfo. Diogenes is doing fine - I can only surmise that, even in his illness, the boy carries the same strength that you do. Or perhaps it is for love of you that he perseveres.

That love, Falista, that Diogenes and I share for you, has brought us closer together. We are like brothers, my dear, he and I. It is my fervent hope that when I return to Mo'ar Prime, Diogenes will become my brother in truth as well as in spirit, when I take your hand in marriage.

Forgive me, I am getting ahead of myself.

I wanted to first apologize for my lack of coorespondance over the past few weeks. As you know, I swore to you that I would do whatever it took, spend whatever was demanded, to see your brothers illness cured. The doctors on Mo'ar called it foolish. Do you remember? They said that Mo'arn medicine was the most advanced for thousands of sectors. But when I saw how your heart broke for him, I knew that I had to try. I had to!

First, of course, I scoured every back-alley butcher, every thaumaturge, every surgeon and chemist and brewer on Mo'ar Prime, and indeed, in the entire Empire. All were baffled by Diogenes' condition. One, however, spoke of a new nanotechnological substance that the Zax Conglomerate had discovered on some rimworld. Months of searching lead to nothing. We must have tried a dozen planets. These doctors are haughty, my dear. They refuse to believe that there could be any sort of disease outside of their understanding, and so they pronounce our Diogenes to be "incurable." It is the same among the Zax as on Mo'ar.

One Zaxian surgeon recommended that I visit Ombrion IV. Are you familiar with this world? If you were any other servant in my father's household, I would not even bother to ask. But I know full well that you are knowledgable of worlds and stars, of planets and peoples. It is what drew me to you in the first place, Falista. You are fair, to be sure, and I know that you would play modest and deny that, but we both know it to be true. You could catch the eye of any man.

But it was only when I came to know you, and came to see, in some small way, the way that you see the universe, that I came to fully love you. So, I don't doubt that you have forgetten more about Ombrion IV than I've ever known.

Never the less, I have time to spare. It is late and I am restless. Diogenes sleeps, and so I must needs pass the time, so of Ombrion IV I shall write.


Ombrion does not have day and night as other planets do. It is a small planet, almost a dwarf-planet. It orbits its sun, but it does not rotate. Half of the planet is plunged in an eternal summer, with the sun beaming down. The other is plunged in darkness and winter. You can imagine, of course, that the peoples living on either side are very, very different.

The Imperial Bureau of Commerce and Tourism recommends that all traveling Mo'arn citizens avoid Ombrion's shadow-hemisphere. The men there have skin as pale as milk, with tiny red eyes and large, flappy ears. Milennia of evolution has caused their faces to be covered in whisker-like antennae. They are violent primitives, and the Zaxian surgeon who suggested a cure for Diogenes might be found there informed me that they have been known to cannibalize off-worlders.

So burning is my love for you, and so brave is your little brother Diogenes, that we did not balk at these warnings. You would have been very proud of him. "We left knowing that we were in for an adventure, Dr. Trocuul. We must go. We must try." It brought a tear to my eye to see. Now that I recall, it is the first time I ever embraced the lad. I looked down at him and told him, "I am not only doing this for Falista. I am doing this for you." He smiled. I think he liked to hear that.

The rumours, as far as we discovered, proved to be false. Most assuredly, the shadowy Ombrionians were a peculiar sort, and more primitive than I'm used to. Their appearence was marred by evolutionary mutations for the climate they lived in. They were far more hirsuite than I would have ever expected, and their fur was indeed a milky white or silvery grey, depending on the individual. But beyond that, the rumours were false. They maintain a vegetarian diet, and when Diogenes made a joke about them eating our flesh (I told you he was brave!), they only smiled and laughed, revealing a mouth full of small, flat teeth that seemed to me to be very ill-equipped for tearing meat and flesh.

After about three weeks of searching and asking, bribing and threatening, we were able to see her. They called her the Naalifaabha, which I later learned in their tongue simply means "Crone." She agreed, finally, to see your brother and examine him. The payment she extracted was strange. The Crone demanded that we tell her our lineages as far back as we could. And then, though I am not sure if this was part of the payment or part of her diagnostic method (or possibly both?), she demanded a small cup of Diogenes' blood. She drank it, going into a deep trance for the rest of the night. In the morning, we were summoned again to her home (a nasty little makeshift hut, primitive by even shadow Ombrion standards.) It was then that she informed us that Diogenes was infested with a rare microbe. She, of course, called them "malefic spirits", but it is easy enough to translate the wailings of primitives to commonsense language. We were sent out of her hut again, while she meditated further.

On the sixth day, we were summoned once more. The shadow-witch declared before us that she could cure Diogenes. My heart leapt with glee at the sound of that shriveled, hairy Crone's words.

But then came the words. The method. Apparently, the only way to cure Diogenes would be through a complicated procedure that would transfer the microbes from Dio to another host. Someone would have to suffer and die in his place.

Dio refused, bless him. I was willing, though. I would have done it, or captured one of the Sunny Ombrionians, as the shadow-witch suggested. I was willing, my love. But your brother... he would not.

The witch pronounced us both fools, and pronounced him doomed. Diogenes' sickness intensifies. He demanded after that that we return home at once. He said I wanted to die with his family.

I agreed to take him, though it killed me. It kills me to disappoint the boy. It kills me to have failed you.

I remember, when I finally worked up the nerve to tell you of my feelings. Do you remember what you said? "I am bonded to your father, Gnaeus. Your household owns me. What choice do I have, but to say no?" And you were right. But like I wrote before, I love not just your body, but your heart. Your mind. Your soul. If I could not have you fully, I did not want to pretend I did by taking one small part of you.

And so, we did not lie together, and the passion in my chest only continued to burn. And, if I may be so bold, so too did your affections for me. And when Diogenes got sick, you, ever the romantic, smiled at me. "If you want me, you can have me. But, in the stories, the man always does something for the woman to win her. A quest. An adventure."

The adventure you gave me, the mission, the quest, was to cure your brother. And I intend to.

We have traversed the length and bredth of the Mo'arn Empire, of the Zax Conglomerate. We have ventured into the Zax Rimworlds, even as far as Ombrion IV. And now we are returning home.

But there is one last chance, one last hope. An alert from the Imperial Government, forwarded to me from my father. There is unrest on Trionfo. There is a man, my love. A subverter, a rebel. He is stirring unrest among the natives there, apparently traveling from village to village, city to city. He preaches, of course. Don't they all. But there is more.

They say he is curing people.

They say he can cure any disease.

I do not know if I believe it. To be honest, I don't. Not after the slew of disappointments Dio and I have had. But at the same time, I stare at your photograph, I remember the sound of your laughter. I feel my heart beat within, as if it is trying to burst forth and return to you. Failure seems inevitable to me at this point.... but when I conjure you, Falista, in my mind's eye.... Well....

Failure seems impossible.

I will find this wandering wise-man. And I will heal your brother.

This I promise you.

Your Love, Now and Forever
Gnaeus Trocuul,
Son of Kosmokrator Trocuus

[James]

The box within my bedside cabinet, I leave to my daughter;
it is a promise, a gift and a charge.

Hello Laura

You are my first letter if you do not count Aunty Ella. That is exciting! I miss you lots but I think it is good you are not here right now. There is fire every evening. The sirens like to wake me up. Mummy and I spend nearly as much time in the tunnels as we do in our house. Mr Killroy’s sweet shop got blown up! And the chocolates is all gone and even worse he looked so sad. I don’t think I have ever seen a boy cry before.

I remember my promise to you. I will keep looking for the magic man with fire hands. Each day I look in the graveyard and the park. I also look for the crusty looking goblin man too but I don’t really want to find him. I think the magic man made him go far away anyway. If I find him I will make him write you a letter too and in it will be all his magical spells.

Yours sencer senceirl sinser truly

Annie

21st September, 1940
Dear Mrs Crawley,

I hope this letter find you and your family in good health. It is good that at least some of us will escape London considering the present inconveniences. During the heavier bombings, I think about sending Ann away to the countryside, but I cannot bear to part with her. Also, she told me the day you left that she was staying put. She has too much of her father in her.

I have discussed this so called magic man with Ann but I cannot make heads or tails of it. Perhaps it is to be expected. What can nine year olds tell themselves to make sense of these dreadful times?

Stay safe and tell Laura she is always welcome to write. Ann would appreciate it dearly.

Yours sincerely,

Mrs Katherine Holloway

***

10th May, 1945
Dear Laura,

Have you heard the news? Surely you've heard the news even out there in Devon? We've won! No more bombs and father talks constantly about a new era of peace. He's even joined the Labour Party. My father! A socialist! We've won!

This means you’ll be back soon, won't you? I am so looking forward to it. There's so much to share. Every letter you've sent has been so helpful. I've pinned your ideas to a secret wall in my cupboard. I haven't found Mr X again but there are several things I want to look at, but I'm waiting for you to get back first. We started this together and we should end it together.

There are also very serious matters to discuss. I know we said that the Covent Garden Women Society for the Preservation and Development of Magic should mainly be focussed on improving the terrible quality of dresses, but I think we should change. Uncle David has lost a leg. Mr Alfie the Butcher is very ill with malnutrition they say and Ms Cavewood is going blind. Just think, if Mr X could make that horrible goblin man disappear, surely he could make sick people better again. That's what we should focus on. Just think of all the poor soldiers who will be back soon, not to mention all the cats and dogs wandering around homeless.

See you very soon,

Annie Holloway

***

12th September, 1950
My Dearest Laura,

You've only been gone two weeks and yet it feels as long as those years I spent in burning London without you. I almost wish I joined you at Oxford, if for no other reason than to double the stir you've created back home. Everyone is talking about “that Crawley girl” who's gone off to study medicine. You've caused a minor scandal! Silly old men saying it isn't right. When I hear them muttering away, I always make sure to swear very loudly.

Mother was not pleased when I told her my plans. I think she rather hoped I'd marry that clown, Thomas. Father seemed positively ecstatic with the idea, though. Perhaps he wouldn't be so happy if he knew I was hunting magic, rather than touring heritage sights. Still, can you believe how much he changed from that stuffy man who always played snooker? Sometimes I wonder what he must have saw during the war, but then I think I don't want to know.

Anyway, isn't this wonderful? You'll become a great doctor saving people with science and I'll find a way to use magic and save people with spells and potions and all sorts. Together we'll make quite a pair.

With all my heart,

Annie

***

28th March, 1953
My Dearest Laura,

What would I have done without your encouragement? For over two years I've hunted and found nothing. Only your letters have given me the drive to push on. Only you stopped me giving up and now I've finally discovered something. Thank you.

I know you want me to tell you everything, but this letter would stretch out into a novel if I did. I'm currently living in Bath so I can make a trip to Oxford on any day. Please send back a date as soon as possible!

With all my heart,

Annie

P.S Oh, I can't resist! I need to tell you something! Mr X is still as mysterious as ever but I've found something better than that. I haven't discovered a magician, but rather an entire community!

***

12th April, 1956
My Dearest Laura,

I am so proud of you. It was the most painful decision of my life not to come to your graduation, but there was a pressing appointment I had in the Hebrides. Laura, you are an amazing woman and you'll be a great doctor. I will always be proud of you.

It feels like I see you less and less, and now whenever I sit down to read one of your letters or to write one of mine, I draw it out for an eternity. One day I will be able to settle down and put to use what I've learnt and I have learnt so much.

Once again I find myself thinking we were born too early. Magic seems to be recovering from some deep slumber. I haven't found anybody like Mr X who is capable of wielding its power at will. Apparently it used to be common, though no one's alive who remembers such a thing. Instead, the magic used today comes from innate magical objects and long-brewing potions and rituals. Artisans have spent their entire life learning how to use it.

There is a clockmaker in Surrey who charms his machine so as to never rust or break down. You should see them! They are so wonderful. Instead of a cuckoo, little figurines move around the clock and act out great stories depending on what time of the day it is. At noon, a gardener and his dog toils the field and when it strikes midnight, a prince seduces a tiny, beautiful princess. It took him four decades to learn the charms necessary. What hope do I have? By the time magic is fully awoken, we may be long gone.

Every way I look at magic, I still look at it as how we promised to on that day you came back to London. To help people. To make them better. I have a few ideas and hopefully soon we can work together on them.

With all my heart,

Annie

***

20th January, 1960
Dear Laura,

I met your mother today when she was at Father's funeral. She told me about your engagement. I guess I know why it's been so long since you last replied. I'm not mad and I suppose I have no right to be but I just wish you would have told me. I wish a lot of things.

This might be my last letter to you for quite some time. I was in London and stood at the corner of Kensington Avenue where the old sweet store used to be. A bomb landed on it a few months after you left. The area was decimated. Mr Killroy built it again but Mother told me he got sick and passed away. The new owners knocked the building down and built a grand office.

In twenty years, this one little area has been bombed, rebuilt, knocked down again and rebuilt anew. In that time, I've done nothing. If I was successful, I could have saved Mr Killroy and made sure his shop wasn't demolished. But the magical community in England is so close-minded, so afraid to reveal itself, so scared to experiment. Everything is stagnant. No one learns anything new or adapts. It is hopeless. I once wrote I thought magic was in a deep slumber, now I wonder if it's on its deathbed. The difference doesn’t seem noticeable.

I'm going to travel with the money Father has left me. I've heard other parts of the world are more open to new ideas. There is still a promise and I plan to fulfil it.

Yours sincerely,

Ann

***

26th July, 1974
Dear Laura,

I wish I could have seen your face as you recognised my handwriting on the envelope. Or do I? I hope it was pleasant surprise. I've been back in the country for several years now and I would have written sooner but, well, there were so many reasons. By the time I decided to contact you, you moved north. It wasn't too much of a problem finding you. I've become quite adept at divining things, in fact it's the only thing I'm good at.

Twice I've intended to drive up to the Lake District, but found myself making excuses each time. I'm not sure I would be welcomed. If I am, write back with a time and date and I'll be there like clockwork. Despite everything, I've missed your friendship, Laura. I've even missed your letters.

England greets someone different to the person who departed it. I've seen so much. In Brazil, there is a tiny amulet capable of treating any wound. It is said to be a gift from their gods and, for now, I have no other explanation. There is an elderly woman in Boston who makes a small fortune by selling acne cream to desperate teenagers. It is made from a host of ingredients, chief amongst them some root not known by any science. I have met medicine men from Australia to Zimbabwe. Some of their methods are modern science disguised in the fabric of mysticism. Others are ineffectual traditions with the success rate of a medieval physician. A few treatments can be called genuine magic. An Aboriginal man mended a fracture of mine with nothing but his bare hands.

I even attempted to make a trip to Faerie, which you no doubt consider proof this letter is the ramblings of an insane person. I have seen insanity, Laura, and it is locked away in that terrible place.

What I've taken away most is magic's limitations. I still find myself incapable of bringing any power to bear, besides a few simple tricks. I can find lost things through the use of a teaspoon and a saucer and I can find addresses with a copy of an electoral roll and a tuning fork. Neither of these particularly helps people. Maybe I should become a debt collector?

If I was ill and you were to offer me a magician or a doctor, I'd take the latter. Especially if the doctor was yourself. It seems as if everything is viewed through the lens of several centuries ago. I now think you were the one who made the right choice. All these years wasted for something so fragile and unpredictable. I still don't know if magic is renewing like a circle or flat-lining into death. I think it is getting better, stronger, but honestly that is the only way I can think. If I accept magic is dying, I might as well join it.

I so hope you're well, Laura, and I would love to see you again. Please write back like you did all those years ago.

Yours sincerely,

Ann

***

29th May, 1978
Dear Laura,

You’re as defeated as James Callaghan will be. I can no longer chase magic around when I have other responsibilities to look after. I've come to the conclusion that there is some magical code I can’t crack to bring its powers to bear. Your idea of combining magic and science to lift the ceiling of medicine is wonderful, but I'm not the person to fulfil it. Over thirty years and nothing to show for it. Well, I suppose I will never lose a sock again and that must count for something.

Thank you for your support. You have nursed me through every obstacle of this obsession of mine and whenever rooms grew darker and great lurking shadows of fear grew larger, I turned to your letters for some brightness.

Your most indebted friend,

Ann

***

21st December, 1984
My Dear Laura,

I hope Annie enjoys her present from her “Auntie”. It took me weeks to find the bloody thing after she dropped the elephant-sized hint! I had to resort to a spot of magic, which I try not to do anymore. I think Daniel and Francis will enjoy the shirts; I just find it a pity that they support Liverpool instead of a good, London club. You needed to install some southern loyalty in your boys!

Send my regards to Stephen, I have no idea what he wanted but you can't go very wrong with socks. You know what to do if he ever loses them.

Stay safe and Merry Christmas, I'll come and visit as soon as I can get time off work.

Ann

***

14th February, 1992
My Dear Laura,

What a strange day. I don't know if I'll even end up sending this letter or come to see you in person. But writing to you has always made my head feel a little clearer.

A woman came around today and introduced herself as Ms Elizabeth Mallory. The name didn't ring a bell and I began to think of various excuses of how to send her on her way, as any sane person does. Except before I could tell her about the imaginary dinner in the oven, she told me about how she'd been searching for me. That is not something you hear every day on your doorstep. She explained she heard stories from people across the country about me. Apparently, everyone from part-time alchemists to the Surrey clockmaker remembered a far younger, more idealistic version of myself traipsing through their lives. I smile at the thought I caused that much of an impression.

Ms Mallory asked me what I'd been doing. I told her about the War, about you, about the Covent Garden Women Society for the Preservation and Development of Magic and how we made our own magical version of the Hippocratic Oath. There was something about having an interested party in front of me, about being able to talk magic with someone, that once the words tumbled free from my lips, a dam opened I couldn't close. I told her about my travels, my discoveries and all my disappointments.

And then it happened.

Laura, do you remember that doll you lost when we were little? We spent weeks looking for it and then your mother walked in, wondering what all the fuss was about. She had put it up on the shelves ages ago. Here was my shelf. All the answers I sought were within Ms Mallory and she was waiting to give them to me. My failures were not mine to own. Nor was magic flat-lining. She explained it to me as a climate. Once, long ago, you could grow grapes in Yorkshire. At other times, Europe was an icy wasteland. Magic is similar. There are times where it is strong, dense and malleable to human use. But also it can wilt away for centuries at a time. I remember once saying we were born too soon and I was right. We are in a Magical Ice Age.

It won't always be so. Ms Mallory told me it is coming to an end. Maybe not in ten years, maybe not even fifty, but soon everything will change and magic will surge back into the human mind. Think of that! Think of how the world will react when such an event happens! I'm no longer quite so sure if it will be a good thing or not. It was why Ms Mallory came to me, though. She is waiting for the Ice Age to end, preparing herself and the world. No one has looked into medicinal magic as much as I and she wanted me to write down my thoughts and discoveries for a springboard. I told her I couldn't do the spells myself. Apparently, it doesn't matter.

She left soon after but not before I asked her a question. It was a moment of fancy, nothing more than a stab in the dark. Did she know of a man who could wield fire? Who had dark hair and blue eyes, who was tall and as strong as an ox? It's funny how I remember that day so clearly when we witnessed Mr X do battle with the fairie. She smiled and said she did. His name was Vincent Spencer and he was a mentor of sorts to her. Imagine that, Laura. Over fifty years and we now know Mr X's name.

And now here I sit stunned, my pen almost shaking. I will send you this letter and visit you too. We have so much to discuss.

Your friend,

Ann

***

5th April, 1994
My Dear Laura,

You are absolutely right, as always. There needs to be a chapter on combining magic with science, and indeed, a chapter on the principle of scientific medicine to provide a foundation for future magic to work from.

I’ve sent a draft for you to build on. Oh, isn’t this exciting? I feel like the Covent Garden Society is finally taking shape.

Your friend,

Ann

***

14th January, 1998
Dear Laura,

I haven't been honest with you. You ask me with every letter why I seem so desperate to finish the book and I've given half-formed answers filled with vague suggestions of magic and ill feelings. It has nothing to do with prophecies or tarot cards. Ms Mallory visited me last year to see about my work and told me in the gentlest of tones, it was unlikely I’d live to see magic return to anything like its former glory. The revolution is still far away.

No, I have been very sick, Laura. Some type of cancer, the details bore me. Don’t worry yourself about it now. We’re beyond the stage where it's worthwhile to worry. I write this letter to you from the hospital where the doctors tell me I only have a few days left. Hopefully, that is not enough time for you to visit. I want you to be with me when it ends, but I don’t think it would be good for you to be there. For once I’ve put your interests over mine.

I’m sending the book with this letter. It is, I think, nearly finished. I’m glad at least some good came from my life.

There are too many regrets to list and I find that beneath the hardened scabs, the wounds are still fresh and raw. So let me just write I’m sorry, Laura. I’m sorry things didn’t turn out as planned. I’m sorry it took so long for me to accept I couldn’t control the direction of the flowing river that is life. In the end, I couldn't be happier to have known you. Every visit was a shield against the encroaching dark and whenever I saw your letters upon my doormat, I felt a little better.

Do not worry about me, Laura. I've spent so many years raging at the dying of the light that I'm now quite happy to go gentle into the night.

With all my heart,

Annie

***

30th September, 2002
Dear Mrs Crawley-Bennett,

I'm writing to you because I believe you were friends with my mother, Ann Holloway of Fulham, London.

Judging from the collection of letters of yours, to hear Ann had a daughter will surprise you. But you (perhaps more than anyone) knew how difficult and secretive she could be.

She had me while travelling in Brazil and despite everything, couldn’t dare to let me go. I suspect you’re my namesake (more than suspect). It’s taken me years to write despite always having your letters and address. I was scared about why she never told you of me. First, I thought she didn’t tell you because she was worried you wouldn’t approve. Now I think I had it wrong. She worried you would approve; she worried you wouldn’t be jealous.

You’re probably concerned why I’m writing to you but I’m not after any money or anything like that. We’ve learnt to live on little and I know how to stretch a budget. I just It’s tough I’m wondering if you have kept my mother’s letters like she kept yours. Reading about her life and knowing she had a good friend fills me with joy, but I’d like to see her own hand as well. It’s a stupid thing to say but I miss her writing, the way her r’s flicked and her A’s were never symmetrical.

If you have time to talk, you can reach me at:

Phone Number: 01182 826 025
E-mail: [e-mail]

Have a good day,

Laura Holloway

***

For my darling daughter,
Read this before the book.

It feels weird to write these words knowing when you read them I will be gone. I have spent so many years surrounded by death in hospitals, to now cheat it in a way feels rather wrong.

I admit there are more eye-catching parts of my will than the small box I kept inside my bedside cabinet. I’ve tried to split my belongings equally between you and the boys and I know you won’t fight over anything. This box and its contents are now yours. I’ve given them to you for more than the fact it concerns your namesake. It is for your: curiosity, intelligence, open-mindedness and trustworthiness.

You may have already read the letters that were in the box. I used to have a great deal more from your Auntie Ann, but I’ve given some to her daughter. She looked so very happy when I gave her a stack of her mother’s handwriting. I couldn’t part with all of them, though. Ann was never aware of it, but her letters granted me just as much solace as mine did for her. As my mind started to falter and I forgot simple things like your birthday, I would read one of Ann’s letters and feel like all my memories came flooding back.

I hope you don’t mind, but I’ve entered you into an arrangement of sorts. Laura Holloway’s contact details are the same as in her letter. I told her you would likely call at some point. I thought you could exchange the last of the letters and get mine in return. Perhaps you’ll feel better seeing my handwriting over seventy years as Laura did with her mother.

Finally, there is the book. Keep it safe until Ms Elizabeth Mallory calls for it. It is hopefully a foundation for medicine when the next paradigm shift occurs. In the frenzy, perhaps it will offer as much aid to people as Ann and I did to each other.

I love you always, Annie,

Mum
14th October, 2004

P.S Don’t call either of the twins, Ann or Laura. That will get awfully confusing. I always liked Morgan as a name. You could have Morgan and Alex and then the gender doesn’t matter.

P.P.S Don’t consider that an obligation. Name them what you want, dear. I’m sure you’ll pick well.

P.P.P.S

[Matteo ((Taed))]

James:

This was quite good, but I wonder if it could have been better. The pacing of the letters was, for the most part, great. However, I think the ending could have made a tidier arc. For example, the '92 letter gives Ann some payoff, the '94 letter shows a partial reconciliation with Laura, and the '98 letter then show's Ann's untimely death. It could have been much more bittersweet if Ann had died immediately after '92: her life's goal comes into reach, bringing her joy, but then she dies before she gets to share that joy with her childhood friend.

I also couldn't help but think that the final two exchanges were a bit sloppy. Laura Holloway writes Laura Crawley, and then Laura Crawley writes Ann Crawley ... eh. There were a couple different ways to do that exchange, and I think my favourite would just have been Laura writing to her daughter. It's punchier to switch away from Ann's voice only once. Maybe drop the '94 and '98 letters entirely, and have Laura allude to Ann Holloway's death immediately following the visit from Mallory. The reader discovers the death organically, and, like I said, it ends up poignant and bittersweet. Then Laura can give her daughter the charge to seek out Ann's daughter, therefore creating hope and a cliffhanger ending and all that good stuff.

On that note, another thing is the letter from Ann's mother at the start. It doesn't seem to do very much, and it breaks from the pattern of letters coming exclusively from Ann.


Jordoom:

Lack of proofreading seems to be a common theme in this competition. I'm not going to harp on about spelling/grammar that much ... but yeah, seriously, proofread.

This was kinda neat. Not super gripping, but not hard to read either. Initially I was going to comment on the worldbuilding side of things, that other than a few names carried over, it didn't seem to share a lot of DNA with your first piece. I was worried that my relative ignorance of bible stories was causing me to miss something, and it's fully possible that that might still be the case. The ending seemed to tie off that loose end, though. It seems obvious that the mysterious preacher is Jesus, or a related figure, so I can pretty much withdraw that complaint. You're doing a good job toeing the line between inspiration and direct retelling; I don't think it pays to just fully adapt a fable using a new coat of paint.

I was struck by the pacing/ordering/tone of the letter itself. As a narrative I think it actually works pretty well, but if you actually imagine it as real correspondence it feels a bit off. In telling an interesting story to Fallista, Gnaeus kind of buries the lede on critical details about her brother's well-being. His initial tone is sort of debonair and swashbuckling as he bounces all over space and writes back to his lady love about how worldly he's become. Then he mentions almost in passing that, oh yeah, Diogenes wants to come home now so that he can die with you, his family.

Again, it works from a narrative standpoint, so I'm not really sure if there's anything you could or should do about it.


Winner: James