Confidential delivery, personal seal.
My Dearest Dyan,
Life here, in the palace, has turned grayer. I can't quite say what has changed, but Eleanor isn't the same. Before, she festered with rage, igniting at the slightest spark; now, I find her sighing in the hallways, or sitting alone in the music room, looking at the piano, the flute… without touching them. She just stays in the dim light, when she thinks no one is watching. It hurts me to see her like this, but I suspect something you wrote to her caused this shift. And while I don't know if it was for better or worse, I must confess I prefer her this way: melancholic rather than furious, quiet rather than overwhelmed. For weeks, she was a tornado sweeping through the corridors.
I am not writing to you solely to inform you of my daughter's state—though I know, somehow, she still matters to you—but because I do not know if the many letters you send her are still being answered, and if the ones she writes reach your hands… or if, as she often does lately, she writes them only to tear them up afterward.
I wish I could tell you I am better, but the truth is my body feels heavier each day. The nights stretch endlessly when the effect of the herbs you left me begins to fade. I am not writing to alarm you, Dyan, but because I don't want to lie to you. You know better than anyone how many extra years you have given me, and although the palace doctors pronounced me dead long ago, I had already made peace with that end. Still… as you well know, I would have liked to see my daughter find something akin to fulfillment.
I don't want to sound fatalistic. I just feel the lethargy settling deeper within me, like a soft, persistent cloak. You are my mage, yes, but also my dearest friend. I thought you would want to know this, because while we cannot steal years from destiny, I still hope there are enough left for me to depart in peace.
Forgive this subdued tone. Sometimes I, too, feel gray. I miss you more than I admit aloud, not just because of my ailments—though those too—but because our evening talks, strolls through the gardens, and those impromptu teas filled my heart more than I thought possible. Now, loneliness reaches me with cruel frequency.
Even with all this, I am glad to know you are finding your way. I told you once before: I would have loved to see you with Eleanor, but if it wasn't possible, then may your pursuit of happiness take you far from this nest full of shadows. I am happy for you. And, in part, it also pains me, because like her… I, too, never quite found it.
Come see me soon. Two months have been more than my stubbornness could bear. I don't know if my patience will last another four.
With a heart softer than I care to admit, your friend bids you farewell,
Silvania Willfrost
Queen Emerita and your accomplice of so many afternoons.