[It's sealed with a chunk of wax, but it was not stamped. It appears to not be marked. When he opens it, he will find a very roughly written letter. Despite the haste and stream-of-consciousness that the letter was written in, the handwriting is still perfectly legible and readable, as is Silver's signature more than the eloquent scrawl of his name on other documents.
It can hardly be considered an official letter, and from the first sentence, it becomes abundantly clear that this was not meant to reach Archer at all. How it got there is mysterious; the paper is slightly ripped and appeared to be gripped while folded up neatly, not at all the way Silver holds his papers.]
I will never understand you.
The fact that you serve me without question, and yet, at the same time, you're constantly uncertain, always in doubt. I can dismiss it in other Rockets; seeing that look in your eyes is always heart-rending to me. Those moments where we did things that are certainly nothing to be proud of... things I can't tell Gold about. It's not like what I have with Gold.
I can almost be violent. I almost want to rip your hair out, hair by hair, tear at your scalp, claw out your eyes, make your skin welt and bleed. But it's not hatred, no, if it were I would have killed you. If I hated you as severely as I could, I would do it with my bare hands - I would smother you, and order you to let me. What a rush the submission gives me. But I don't want to kill you. I want simply, to dominate you.
I can't get that with Gold. But what I get from Gold I can't get from anyone else. There's a warmth there, a love. I don't deserve it.
With you, I have no doubt. You belong below me, under my boot. It burns me up, the thought of you possibly being taken in by another. As if no one should have you but me.
Ultimately, it doesn't matter. I have Gold, and while I do not deserve him, he deserves me at the very least. This letter will never reach you. I've prepared the fireplace, and I will burn it tonight. Anything to get the image of you out of mind, at least for tonight. To provide finality, conclusion. It's not as if anyone would reciprocate romance based on dominance, unless they were a masochist. And I would be rather disappointed if it were that simple.
[It almost seems as if Silver had thought on writing something else. There's a few taps of ink, and something small scrawled at the bottom which had been scribbled out. Regardless of the scribbles, however, it was clear what it said.]
[Suffice to say, by the time Silver read Archer's note (a couple days later, whoops), the young man had pushed it out of mind entirely. Having it come back up rather suddenly? Was a rather unpleasant and unnerving surprise. Silver will send Archer a note (deliberately, this time), which was written much more like a professional letter.]
It can hardly be considered an official letter, and from the first sentence, it becomes abundantly clear that this was not meant to reach Archer at all. How it got there is mysterious; the paper is slightly ripped and appeared to be gripped while folded up neatly, not at all the way Silver holds his papers.]
I will never understand you.
The fact that you serve me without question, and yet, at the same time, you're constantly uncertain, always in doubt. I can dismiss it in other Rockets; seeing that look in your eyes is always heart-rending to me. Those moments where we did things that are certainly nothing to be proud of... things I can't tell Gold about. It's not like what I have with Gold.
I can almost be violent. I almost want to rip your hair out, hair by hair, tear at your scalp, claw out your eyes, make your skin welt and bleed. But it's not hatred, no, if it were I would have killed you. If I hated you as severely as I could, I would do it with my bare hands - I would smother you, and order you to let me. What a rush the submission gives me. But I don't want to kill you. I want simply, to dominate you.
I can't get that with Gold. But what I get from Gold I can't get from anyone else. There's a warmth there, a love. I don't deserve it.
With you, I have no doubt. You belong below me, under my boot. It burns me up, the thought of you possibly being taken in by another. As if no one should have you but me.
Ultimately, it doesn't matter. I have Gold, and while I do not deserve him, he deserves me at the very least. This letter will never reach you. I've prepared the fireplace, and I will burn it tonight. Anything to get the image of you out of mind, at least for tonight. To provide finality, conclusion. It's not as if anyone would reciprocate romance based on dominance, unless they were a masochist. And I would be rather disappointed if it were that simple.
[It almost seems as if Silver had thought on writing something else. There's a few taps of ink, and something small scrawled at the bottom which had been scribbled out. Regardless of the scribbles, however, it was clear what it said.]
I think I love you.
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I will discuss this with you tonight.
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...You were not meant to read that.
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[Silver's hand touches his face. A gesture that only illustrates frustration.]
And it's certainly not something worth risking Gold's loyalty for.
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You're not a masochist.
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[Silver removes his hand from his face, crossing his arms.]
You're a strange one.
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[Okay well maybe a little.]
But I don't have an answer for this.
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