#dear genya

I find the fact you haven’t even tried to reach out to me disturbing. I can only assume that you and David got too distracted and accidentally blew yourselves up with a wayward grenatki. Still, I hold my hopes that ghosts are real, so I think you’d have the opportunity to at least knock a lamp over. 

So you know where to send letters till I leave, I’ve arrived in Overut (Translation: As cold and desolate as The Darkling’s soul), and have begun the treachorous game I like to call ‘See how fast I can run after someone recognizes me by my hair and tries to burn me at the stake.’ So far, all attempts on killing me have failed. 

Grisha     |    Fjerdans

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It feels odd calling myself that word when I no longer can control any light. Every time I try, it’s like trying to prod a sleeping giant. I barely register as even a gust of wind, let alone a summoner. 

I am back to looking how I did when we first met- which is to say, dreadful. Perhaps I will come back to Os Alta so that you can make me pretty once more. I fear, though, what you may do when you realize I look like a drowned, albino rat half the time now. 

How is Zoya holding up? How is David holding up? How are you holding up? Most importantly, how is the extremely clever, very handsome, and tactful painstakingly vain and irritatingly eloquent king doing? I heard that the all famed Sturmhond’s ship was seen recently, but whether it was the privateer himself or someone under his wing captaining it is the question.

This letter, I fear, is coming to a close because if I don’t extinguish my candle soon I fear my roommates (There is only so much housing in such a small, northern town) will throw a shoe at me if I keep them up any later. 

Missing you all terribly, 

I miss all of you terribly. Even you, Zoya.

I need to hear of all the adventures you are creating for the newest wave of Grisha, due to my travels mostly extending to areas where such people do not exist.

So far, my adventures have been:

Crossing into Fjerda and getting yelled at by a young woman who I assume disliked me for my lack of knowledge over the language.

Finding Tracker, the unbeatable rooster, in a ditch after 4 days of losing him. 

Having Tracker then run off again, only to come back carrying a stick. I believe he is having an identity crisis, and believes himself to be a dog.

Waking up on a bed of pine needles in the middle of the forest when I distinctly remember falling asleep in a clearing.

Having a young woman ask me what skin cream I used to keep me looking so youthful despite my hair.

Dying my hair after that experience.

Having my hair come out a musty brown rather that dark brown. 

Having the color rinse out completely within two days.

Cursing the allure that comes with deep, purple rings around the eyes, sunken cheeks, and a body that could get me mistaken as malnourished.

I demand a private response from all of you, so that I can tell which adventure comes from which person. If my demands are not met, I will find a way to shine sunlight in your eyes again and blind you permanently.

Hugs and kisses and terrible possible outcomes for you all,