May 25th, 1862
It has been one week since that day, and consequently one week that I have not written. In my mind it is a sin, for which writing now, in my moment of lucidity, I may repent starting from the beginning.
After my last entry, I fully intended to sleep, however though I tried it would not come to me as I was, now, alone in the large bed I’d acquired for us to share. It seemed cold, sterile, and the thought of it was unbearable. Doing as I have in the past I sent for Lafayette. Jet hated him, and hated when I called to him but I no longer cared.
When he delivered unto me the thing I sought, I descended to the basement, and it’s guest rooms. I could not sleep in ours, not even with my new medication.
I chose the lavender room because it reminded me the least of him, and I buried myself into the plush covers.
It took a while, longer than last time, although I suppose it was because after all this time without it I had become unfamiliar with its application. However once I’d finally finished, it made quick work of me, slowly dragging me away into oblivion.
When I awoke, I was not in the guest room but in a pile of pillows in the corner of a dark room. The pillows were each a different fabric and texture, none of which I ever remembered purchasing. The floor underneath me was dark polished wood, but I could see a carpet a ways away.
Sitting up, I was surprised to not feel the uncomfortable after effects of my nightly ritual, and found upon examination that I was in a vast library, the likes of which I’d never seen in my life.
The bookshelves were all full and seemed heavy, the dark wood matched the floors and each book had a different title, some which were my favorites, and some titles I’d never heard of before. They all seemed aged, though some were in better condition than others.
In addition, Artifacts lined some of the book shelves, breaking the rows up and drawing my attention. Some were common objects, but some artifacts were only rumored to exist.
I stood with eyes wide in wonder, but I did not feel shaky as I would’ve normally, and I became wary. It occurred to me briefly then, that I may be dreaming, and of course I was, for when I looked around the corner where the dark carpeting originated I saw him.
With an old oil lantern lit on a dark wooded side table next to the plush purple couch, Jetstream lay calmly reading, using his small reading glasses which I’d teased him for only days prior.
I didn’t tease him then though. The shock and sheer emotion of seeing my beloved friend and partner alive again in front of me held my tongue down and rendered my legs Inept. I wanted to scream, wanted to shout, but I could do nothing but allow the tears to softly drop down my cheeks in grief and joy and confusion.
When he noticed me only a moment later, he raised his head and smiled, opening his arms to call for my embrace. That movement freed me from my invisible shackles. I’m ashamed to say that I wailed like a foal as I embraced him on the couch, holding him as I had a few hours ago on the beach where he’d left me.
I was so confused and hurt, and happy all at the same time, and he merely continued to hold me, gently rocking and humming the same song I used to sing to Compass when his father beat him. We stayed like that for longer than I can remember, and eventually I fell asleep in his arms.
When I woke again I was in the guest room, just beginning to come down and feeling terribly alone. My mind panicked with grief once again thinking I’d lost Jetstream so soon after getting him back, and I struggled to pump myself with more of my sleep syrum.
I was out, and back in the library once again, no longer frantic but still feeling heavy loss.
He was still there though. Jet smiled at me, and without the shock from before I recognized the sadness that lay in there as well.
“What is this place?” I asked him after sitting down before him.
He didn’t answer me immediately, and he looked a bit uncomfortable. “Nowhere we could ever have gone before.” He said softly “but that can’t keep me from being here with you now.”
My heart sank but it wasn’t something I hadn’t already suspected. “I just.....How long can I see you?” I asked him, hoping that the answer would be long.
He wouldn’t answer me though. Instead he called me over and we sat together, reading and sometimes talking for hours. At times I would cry and he would hold me, and at others he would say something so funny I would laugh for an unreasonable amount of time.
Every time though I would slowly grow tired and fall asleep, only to be back in the guest room, frantic to return to my recently departed husband.
The only reason I am as lucid as I am now, and in a state which I can write so clearly, is that my dearest Compass found me as I was, laying in the guest bed, dehydrated, crying, and practically catatonic.
It is only because of him that I did not meet my dear Jet for life.
I came out of my final trip to the ethereal library with freezing water splashed upon my face and my closest friend worriedly crying above me. The next few hours were a blur, filled with shame, and pain and sorrow as Compass brought me back to sobriety and consequently to my senses.
He is now asleep one of the other guest rooms as I write, here in the cold study. I feel empty and sore, but not unbearably so. The two largest loves of my life are here, ready to comfort me.
I know that one day I will see him again; him and his ethereal library, and I hope it will be sooner rather than later. For now though, I will wait, satiated by the closeness of my dear friend. And one day he may join Jet in that most cozy and welcoming of places, and I will visit them in my fever dreams before I too rejoice in my salvation.