Author's Note: Hi there! This is a letter written by Quitoon, addressing Jakabok Botch. These characters are from the brilliant novel Mister B. Gone by the ever-more brilliant author, Clive Barker! (Funny thing about Clive Barker is that he owns all of the characters found below). It is not an incredibly realistic letter, but more one written out of discontentment in relation to the end of the novel. Also, this is part one of what will likely become many parts. (I would only recommend the reading of this if you have finished the aforementioned novel). So, if you're not in the market for discounted spoilers, please don't continue reading this!

All of that discontentment stems from Quitoon and Jakabok never really becoming a romantic item when I really, really wanted that to happen (which is probably hilariously silly of me. I apologize). Please leave any sort of feedback. I appreciate any and all. I hope you have a nice day, Reader. :)

So, here goes!

Letter One:

I have no companion.

A century in your presence only to suffer your absence has mangled me. I have been made uglier than you once were by being severed from you.

I was stupid- so stupid- and you were right.

Mister B., my love, you were right.

I'm speaking of course of that burning day and that burning rage; I should never have let words come between us. Words. Look at you now; it's what you've become.

If I wasn't ashamed, if I wasn't so prideful, I would have picked you up and read all your pages; I would have devoured any bit of you that you gave me. But my fatal flaw remained what it was that day, so long ago, and I found I could only bear to walk away as you once did.

Now look at me, I'm writing words you will never get to read and you are the words you will never get to say. Our miscommunications have abounded, Mister B., ever since that day. I will end that now, and say what I have always meant.

I love you.

I will write to you the words that burned within my heart and fueled it, I will write to you in the fire of my love, for it is true.

I love you.

And when I crept inside your dreams and walked in the shadows of your thoughts, it was only because I could not bear to be without you. I was much more comfortable inside your head than I was far from you.

I can not be far from you.

A century with you spawned an eternity without you. I did not know that our journeying to Mainz would cost you.

I did not know that you had survived the angel's wound until I again saw you and when I saw you again you were so weak, my love, but at your weakest you taught me: you were never a worm.

Mister B., you were never a worm.

Your only weakness was your love for me.

Now I will go and sleep the sleep of the dead, as my confession has exhausted me.