Evening Tales: Dark Academia Short Stories

His Last Letter

I watched as the sun began its slow descent. 

Its now orange glow lit the crescent bay on fire, gentle waves rolling into coral sand far below. I knew that if I closed my eyes, I would be able to see its perfect imprint against my lids. Although not because of its vibrant glow, but because I knew the sight by heart. Sitting on this bench, overlooking the half moon inlet of sea, I waited. Each night, every night, for three years, I would wait with my gaze intent on the horizon. 

His ship never came. 

It was out there somewhere among those roiling waves, the white billowing sails carrying him closer to me by the day. 

For he made a promise. And how could he ever break it? 

I wriggled my fingertips, the papers between them wrinkled from overreading, some edges missing or torn. Perhaps, the small stains here and there were those of tears. After all, they were all I had left of him. 

So I began to read:

January 26, 1715
Dearest Mary,
I find myself unable to stop thinking about when last we met. 
You danced so beautifully. I laugh at the childish thoughts I had: your gown folded like waves in the sea, the barrettes in your raven hair sparkling stars in the midnight sky. 
I miss you. Terribly so.
Might I see you again soon?
Yours, 
Sam

Years later, my heart still galloped in my chest as though I were still that young girl, tucking the letter close, reading it again and again and again after it had arrived. 

I read his name over and over, running my fingertips over its sprawling handwriting. To think he had once sat and written these very words, on this exact page. 

So I picked up the next:

February 15, 1715
My Mary, 
I know what your father said. I cannot help but hear his words in every waking moment, and in my dreams. It is an ugly truth, and one I will not deny.
I have no funds. I am not of money or status. I am not even sure that I would be able to sustain you and our family.  ̶I̶ ̶c̶a̶n̶n̶o̶t̶ ̶h̶a̶v̶e̶ ̶y̶o̶u̶   I do not deserve you. 
All I have is my heart, which is already yours. 
And so, I will sail down the coast and look for work. I hear the Spanish are looking for a crew.
I will write every minute I can. 
With love,
Your Sam

A tear warmed my cheek, feelings of hopelessness filling my mind in a dark cloud. He'd had my interests at heart. 

Didn't he know I'd had all that I needed?

April 21, 1715
My love,
I did not mean to keep you in anticipation: I have found work!
I am to board a ship called "The Dove" in three days. I will aid in the transport of merchant goods from France to Britain. All intentions are to see you along the way. I will bring you something. Perhaps a gown? Or a ring. I would very much like to get you a ring. 
Wait for me? 
Forever yours,
S

PS. Letters may trickle down, as I will be at sea for many months at a time. 

 It was anger which grasped me next. I had told him to stay. I had attempted every possible way to explain that I didn't need what he thought I did. He would only give me a distant smile, when he was there, his auburn eyes fixed in determination. 

Flipping through the pile, my fingers stopped on two particularly crumpled and torn letters. Perhaps it was these that I read the most. 

July 19, 1716
Darling Mary,
I have built a good sum for us now. I cannot help but smile at these next words: I am coming home.
Look to the horizon at sunset. By the time you receive this, I should be there any day. I may even arrive before it, and we can read it together. Such a strange word after all this time- "together". It sounds like music.