Faxeman, A Letter

Babydoll,

You have always been drawn to the darkness. Whether the darkness that is bereft of light and hides in the shadows, or the darkness in people's souls, the evil in them; it didn't matter. You played there as a child and you flourished in its ability to wrap around you and protect you from stares and poisonous words. I watched you grow, understanding every choice you made, every pain you felt, as though they were my own. I was always on your side, my love, for I knew the reasons why you had to hurt. When other people would've judged you and questioned your goodness, I understood the emotion in your veins. There were times I watched, silently, as you hurt yourself and I begged with every ounce of my being that you stop. There were times when I knew the pressures and the guilt had built and overpowered you. You were young, after all, and only trying to be who you so desperately thought people needed you to be. Over time your guilt and anguish became easy to hide. Others might say you lost your ability to feel sorrow or regret but I know differently; I watched you master the pretence in your mirror at night, before you went to sleep. I watched you sob, silently, in the shower. I watched you reach for the bottle every time someone stabbed you with their vicious tongues. I watched you hurt, unable to comfort you, unable to let you know how much I loved every inch of you, and how I longed to protect you from yourself.

When you brought Cordelia to the Academy, you returned a different person. People might assume that becoming a mother would soften a person, but you pulled away. I saw the ice in your eyes, the fear of doing it wrong. I didn't judge you, of course, I was too concerned for your happiness. The worry you hid from everyone around you was only too visible to me, and I couldn't help but resent that sweet little girl, for breaking your heart simply with her existence. While you travelled the world I stayed hidden in the walls of the Academy, forced to listen, forever, to witches who didn't know you speaking ill of you. Some were afraid and paranoid in their goings on; they refused to say anything at all in case you found out. Others were naïve in thinking that your strength was a façade and something you wouldn't follow up with. They hadn't witnessed the lengths you'd go to, to protect the Coven, or most importantly, yourself. On a few occasions I had managed to find the strength in my anger to punish those that bad mouthed you. I'm sure they'd assumed that it was your power or your spirit coming through. But it was just me, ensuring their rumours had no way of taking flight. They had no need for rumours, not with all your incredible truths.

Your jealousy was real and unafraid to raise its head. I'd always loved that about you; you were so unapologetic. I enjoyed watching the moments when your eyes flashed green with envy and your step became emblazoned with passion, and adamant. It was when someone dared to tell you you couldn't do something that you smirked and proved to them you could, never showing how trying or difficult it might have been for you. Afterwards you would retire to your room, drained and helpless and only I got to see. The clashing worlds that lived between your strength and your vulnerability were mine, and I'd never felt so lucky. I only wished you'd known of my presence.

I recall the first time you looked at me. It was the moment I'd been dreaming of for almost half a century. I'd resigned myself to my eternal death; trapped in the walls, unseen, unknown. The moment I felt someone look at me and not through me I once again felt alive and valid. But not in the way I did that evening at the Jazz Bar. I curled up beside you, hoping you'd find something in me worth keeping, and the moment you smiled that devastatingly beautiful smile and softened your dark eyes, as they glanced over me, I knew you had. And I was really breathing again. I wanted to finally reach out and be able to feel your skin in my hands, but I restrained myself. I knew you, but you didn't know me yet, and I wanted you to more than anything. So, I fought against myself not to dive into the scent of your perfume or dance to the melody you hummed in my head. And though your volatility and passion came through the way it always had; in fights and sex and nasty words, I'd learned how to calm you and watched knowing you'd come back, drenching me in guilt-ridden love. When others would have hit you back or walked away forever, I understood that this was the best part of yourself, the strength and the fighter, the wonder of Fiona Goode, coming out and hunting to protect herself. I adored it. I adored you, in all your feisty lioness attacks. And I forgave you every time, because I had no other choice but to. I'd been given heaven when you laid in my arms and moaned into my mouth and danced against my body, and I wasn't about to give that up for anything else you may have said or done. I was a fool, but I'd spent too long watching, unable to touch you or tell you how much I cared.

I first saw the weakness in your eyes. There was a shame there I'd never seen before. You were afraid, but you did everything you could to hide it. Over time, I realised you'd begun to hate yourself, your body, for what it was doing to you. You moved uncomfortably under my touch, as though you weren't good enough for me anymore. The confidence was lost in hair-loss and chemo. Your strength waned and I knew you were terrified of being seen as frail or vulnerable. So regardless of how scared I was of losing you and watching you suffer in pain, I ignored it. We never spoke about it, but I'm sure I caught a look of relief and gratitude in your eyes, the day I let you fight with me and didn't try to coddle. You were always at your best when you were on fire, fuelled by your passion and anger. That's when you really were the Fiona Goode everyone knew. That's when you were a leader. So I let you have that role a little longer, because I knew what it meant to you. Because I knew you wouldn't survive the pity in my eyes and the sadness in my touch. It was only at the very end you embraced your destiny and I wasn't there to share it with you. I watched when I could, again from that great distance, unable to intervene, unable to quench your agony. The torment for me was worse than my death, worse than being trapped in the silence. I was powerless, but worse than that, so were you, and it unnerved me so. The statuesque, dominant, confident woman I had fallen in love with was now frail and old and dying.

I was watching the day that it happened. It was possibly the most painful day of my life, and yet there was resolve in your reconciliation with Cordelia. And of course, your escape from the claws of death. You were free. I held my breath, waiting, hoping beyond all hope that you would appear to me. But you didn't. I didn't understand how it worked; the layers of afterlives, the deals and promises made throughout one's existence. I had no idea where you'd ended up, and I was afraid at the prospect of your hellish afterlife. But I had to remember, you were no longer suffering. You were no longer that old, withering woman, who would've made you sick. No one needed to remember you like that. You were once again the devil woman, the Supreme that made everyone quake with fear. You were the woman I fell in love with, all over again. I knew that as certain as I knew you'd be out there, somewhere, on one of those many plains, yelling at some poor son of a bitch and smoking a cigarette. Because that's just who you are. Fiona Goode doesn't just perish and decay like a mere mortal. Your spirit was the strongest I'd ever seen, and I felt it with me, every moment we were together.

I only had to search for a moment. When I returned to the cabin your perfume smacked me in the face and my heart sunk with unadulterated happiness. I was home. I wasn't fazed by your venomous screams, the anger that shook you, the loathsome looks you fired at me, because I didn't care. You were alive, even if only to me, and I could feel it when you hit me and hear it in that melody you hummed in my head. Our passion had set your soul on fire and you hated me for it, because you couldn't control it. But I know that you loved me for it too, because I was the one you'd been waiting for your whole life, Fiona Goode. I was the love of your life. And now I was the love of your afterlife, too.

Your Axeman