Take a letter, Michael. To Dublin City Council. "Dear Sir or Madam. As wheelchair users with suicidal intentions, I must protest at a lack of facilities. None of the bridges are equipped with easy parapet access, thus curtailing the rights of the disabled to throw themselves in.
My Dearest Allie. I couldn't sleep last night because I know that it's over between us. I'm not bitter anymore, because I know that what we had was real. And if in some distant place in the future we see each other in our new lives, I'll smile at you with joy and remember how we spent the summer beneath the trees, learning from each other and growing in love.
— Why don't you answer my letters?
— Because... I'm trying to forget you. And when you do that, you can't write.
— Why didn't you write me?
— What?
— Why? It wasn't over for me, I waited for you for seven years. But now it's too late.
...
— You wrote me?
— Yes... it wasn't over, it still isn't over!
Katniss, maybe the country was shocked tonight by your arrow, but once again, I was not. You were exactly who I believed you were. I wish I could give you a proper goodbye. But with both Coin and Snow dead, the fate of the country will be decided tonight, and I can't be seen at your side. Tonight, the 12 District leaders will call for a free election. There's little doubt that Paylor will carry it. She's become the voice of reason. I'm sorry so much burden fell on you. I know you'll never escape it. But if I had to put you through it again for this outcome, I would. The war's over. We'll enter that sweet period where everyone agrees not to repeat the recent horrors. Of course, we're fickle, stupid beings, with poor memories and a great gift for self.destruction. Although, who knows? Maybe this time, we'll learn. I've secured you a ride out of The Capitol. It's better for you to be out of sight. And when the time is right, Commander Paylor will pardon you. The country will find its peace. I hope you can find yours.
Plutarch.
— Now, how soon did you know that i was not dead?
— You wrote me a letter, Alfie.
"And in this strange and symbolic nature..."
"You have to call her."
"Where the pure angel merges with the antic sphinx..."
"I'm telling you. Call her ".
Clark. A few weeks should have passed by the time you read this. If you followed the instructions, you'll be in Paris on one of those chairs that never sit quite level on the pavement. I hope it's still sunny. Across the bridge to your right you will see L'Artisan Parfumeur. You should try the scent called Papillons Extreme. I always did think it would smell great on you. There are a few things I wanted to say and couldn't, because you would have got all emotional and you wouldn't have let me finish. So, here it is. When you get back home, Michael Lawler will give you access to a bank account that contains enough to give you a new beginning. Don't start panicking. It's not enough for you to sit around for the rest of your life, but it should buy you your freedom. At least from that little town we both call home. Live boldly, Clark. Push yourself. Don't settle. Wear those stripy legs with pride. Knowing you still have possibilities is a luxury. Knowing I might have given them to you has eased something for me. So, this is it. You are scored on my heart, Clark. You were from the first day you walked in with your sweet smile and your ridiculous clothes. And your bad jokes and your complete inability to ever hide a single thing you felt. Don't think of me too often. I don't want you getting sad. Just live well. Just live. I'll be walking beside you every step of the way. Love, Will.
Will’s last letter.
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