Page 14 of Gone for the Ghost
My Dearest Victoria,
The salutation stops my breathing entirely.This is it—the unfinished love letter Julian mentioned during his confession about Victoria’s disappearance, the words he never got to complete before illness claimed him.I settle onto the closet floor, handling the paper like it might dissolve if I breathe too harshly, and read the declaration that explains everything about Julian’s capacity for love and his terror of losing it again.
I find myself struggling to articulate what you’ve brought to my existence, though perhaps the inadequacy of language is itself revealing.Before you, I moved through life with the careful precision of someone who believed meaning came from maintaining proper form rather than risking genuine feeling.
You’ve shown me that my wealth and position aren’t accidents of birth to be maintained through careful social navigation.They’re tools I can use to matter, to contribute something meaningful to the world beyond my own comfort.Through your work, your causes, your complete refusal to accept injustice as inevitable, you’ve taught me what it means to live with purpose.
The plans we’ve made together—the theater we’ll fund, the voices we’ll amplify, the systems we’ll challenge—they represent more than political activism.They’re evidence that love can become a force for transformation, that two people who see each other clearly can create change that transcends their individual limitations.
The letter continues, Julian’s feelings for Victoria pouring across the page with the kind of raw honesty that makes my chest ache in sympathy.He describes her fearlessness, her integrity, the way she challenged his assumptions and expanded his understanding of what a relationship could accomplish.But underneath the celebration of Victoria’s qualities, I recognize something deeper—Julian’s amazement at being chosen by someone extraordinary, his wonder that love could inspire him to become worthy of such choice.
If something separates us—and I fear it might, given the dangerous nature of the work we’ve undertaken—I need you to know that loving you has been the greatest privilege of my existence.Not because you’re perfect but because you’ve shown me what it means to be fully alive, to care about something larger than personal comfort, to believe that individual actions can contribute to meaningful change.
Whatever forces might conspire against us, I want you to remember that you’ve already won the most important battle.You’ve proven that love can be revolutionary, that two people who refuse to compromise their principles can build something beautiful despite the world’s resistance.
You’ve made me better than I ever imagined possible.You’ve made me—
And there it stops.Mid-sentence, mid-thought, like Julian’s hand simply couldn’t hold the pen anymore.The incompleteness feels like a physical wound, this declaration of love cut short by mortality and circumstance, leaving questions that have echoed through ninety-eight years of supernatural existence.
But as I sit holding Julian’s unfinished words, something clicks into place with the force of revelation.This letter isn’t just about Victoria.It’s about Julian’s pattern of loving completely and then losing catastrophically, his conviction that caring deeply inevitably leads to devastating separation.Victoria disappeared before he could finish expressing his feelings.Now he’s disappeared before I could finish understanding mine.
History doesn’t have to repeat itself, especially when you recognize the pattern and possess the courage to write a different ending.
I retrieve a pen from my purse, my hands trembling with something between nerves and determination.If Julian couldn’t complete his declaration to Victoria, maybe I can complete it for him—not replacing his words but adding to them and bridging the gap between what was and what might be.
—you’ve made me understand that love doesn’t end with loss.It transforms, evolves, finds new expressions and new objects worthy of its intensity.Victoria, wherever your spirit has found peace, know that what you and Julian shared was real and precious and worth every risk you took to protect it.
My handwriting looks stark against Julian’s elegant script, modern urgency contrasting with vintage formality, but somehow the combination feels right—past and present in dialogue rather than competition.
To whoever finds this letter: some connections transcend the boundaries we think define possibility.Love doesn’t diminish when shared across time or circumstance.It multiplies, creating space for what was and what might be without forcing them into competition.
Julian, if these words somehow reach you, know that Victoria gave you a gift beyond the love you shared.She taught you how to love completely, how to choose connection over safety, how to let someone transform you through the simple act of being seen.Don’t let her sacrifice become your prison.Don’t let the fear of loss prevent you from recognizing that some risks are worth taking precisely because they might not succeed.
The words flow faster now, my heart speaking directly through my pen without consulting my rational mind for approval.
I love you.Not as replacement for what you lost, but as continuation of what you learned.I love your sarcastic commentary and protective instincts, the way you challenge me to be better while accepting exactly who I am.I love that you make creating stories feel like the most important work in the world, that arguing about punctuation somehow became the foundation for the deepest partnership I’ve ever known.
Choose to be present instead of protected.Choose the woman who’s here now, who sees who you really are and wants that person—complicated history and all.Choose to believe that some forms of love are strong enough to transcend every limitation, including the ones we place on ourselves.
Victoria taught you that you could love completely.Let me teach you that you can love again.
Love always,
Lily
I read the completed letter aloud, my voice growing stronger as I reach the words I added, speaking to both Victoria’s memory and Julian’s presence with equal conviction.The air in the closet shifts as I read, growing warmer despite the autumn evening, charged with the kind of energy that suggests something fundamental is changing in the space between possible and impossible.
“Choose to be present instead of protected,” I repeat, the words carrying more weight than their syllables should be able to bear.“Choose the woman who’s here now.”
The temperature shifts again, and for a moment, the apartment feels full in ways that have nothing to do with furniture or belongings.Something stirs in the corners of perception—not quite visible, not quite audible, but unmistakably there.
Then, so quiet I almost miss it, Julian’s voice whispers my name.
“Lily.”
Not sarcastic or teasing or filtered through the careful distance he’s maintained since our merger.Just my name, spoken with the kind of wonder reserved for miracles you’d stopped believing were possible.
“Julian?”I whisper back, looking around the closet.“Are you here?”
