It's the real world, but it isn't. Secrets and dangers lurk below the surface - as well as slavers, strange creatures and a shifting wasteland where humans were once gods. You just need to open your eyes to see past the illusion. You just need to w...
See WM23's file for context: further letters enclosed there. This letter is notable for two reasons:
1) WM23's regular pattern of letter writing (daily) – observable for the last three years (see file WM23 for more details) – disrupted. Unprecedented month-long period of no communication prior to this letter's date.
2) WM23's direct reference of WF15. Cross-referencing possible.
Nb: There is no evidence at this point to suggest WF15 had any access or knowledge of these letters.
^^^
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..."Rebecca". I can't believe I wrote that. Like you're a stranger, like this is the first time we've met.
You're trying to frown at me, right now. But I know you're holding back a smile. You haven't changed. You can't change. You'll always be as you were. And now it's just me that's making all the mistakes. Forgetting -
My pen's moving, but my brain's not. I mean – I feel like I did when I first started writing to you. Do you remember? It didn't feel right, then. It felt like I was admitting you weren't here, right next to me. But, after a while, it felt like a conversation between us. It became my routine to write to you every day. Even though you hate reading. Maybe this is my revenge. You're not here, so now you have to read these letters. I bet you hate it.
Mila hasn't changed. She still hasn't gone outside.
It's been a long time - hasn't it? Too long, you'll say. If I close my eyes, I can imagine your face as you say it. You'll twist your mouth at the left hand side, and squint at me – like I'm being stupid.
I used to see you all the time – at the corner of my eye when I crossed the road, or in the mirror when I brushed my teeth. But it's harder than it used to be, now. Thinking about your face feels like writing does – almost out of reach.
Now, other things are closer than your face – for the first time in years – and my routine's been disrupted.
Before, I followed my pattern, I climbed the cliff - I didn't let myself fall. I put one hand over the other, and I pulled myself along, and I didn't look down, no matter what. But now, everything's shaking. I can feel gravity for the first time in years. I can hear Dad's voice in my brain: "Don't look down. Eyes on the sky, Jake. That's what humans are made for. The sky. Ground's for your troubles, and the sky's just for you."
Right now, you're crossing your arms and tilting your head to the side. Maybe you're even saying "Jake..." You're going to look suspicious.
