RP Narrative: Elle and her letter Who: Elle Abercrombie When: 5 December, 1979; after this, but before anyone gets to Elle's flat. Where: Elle's flat What: Alastor is dead and she got a letter. Rating: PG-13 for language Status: Complete
Elle snatched the letter from the owl, and her breath caught in her throat when she saw the familiar scrawl on the front of the letter that was his. She wasn't supposed to see it again. She'd just saw his body, she'd just left his necklace with him, she'd just left him behind. Everything she had been with him, everything she had dreamed with him... she had left it in that cold room at the Hog's Head not half an hour before.
She wanted to burn the book of her life that contained him in it, and yet here he was invading. And instead of sadness, the sadness she yet to feel, she felt anger. Rage that washed over her in waves.
He'd left her. He'd made the decision to leave, and she let him, and he left her. After all he had promised, after all they had gone through, after all she had accepted... after deciding that she would lay down her future and become his wife...
He'd left her. He had no right to invade her life anymore. Not now. Not ever.
She grabbed her wand and went to set the damn letter on fire without opening it but something, maybe it was Alastor himself from some other place, stopped her. She ran her fingertips over her name, in that horrible, messy, scrawl she had mocked him so much for, and she couldn't help the hot tears that built in her eyes and spilled over her cheeks.
"God damn you." The words were cold and bitter, and she threw the letter into the back of the middle drawer of her desk and slammed it shut. The sound was so sharp, so final. It jerked her like someone had hooked her through her sternum. She made a guttural sound of frustration and wiped the tears from her cheeks.
"Fuck you, Alastor Gumboil." The whispered words barely passed her lips, but she said them all the same, "Fuck. You."
She took a deep breath and then without a second thought, or a second glance at the drawer that contained the words that would most likely break her heart, she walked out of her office and waited for Kate, and whoever else was sure to arrive to 'comfort' her.
She didn't need comfort anymore. She needed a heart. Hers was gone.