Wake Up Telegram

I stood on the docks of Antiquity Harbor, staring out at the water, hearing the sounds of the crew of the Venture as they loaded the ship for its return to Port Caledon. My time in Antiquity had been interesting - I had literally met with 4 Duchesses, 2 Dukes, 10 Countesses, 6 Earls, 35 Baronesses and 18 Barons. Antiquity certainly is chock full of "aristocrats" for such a small nation!

Behind me I heard the thudding of boots hitting the planks of the docks...growing closer. I turned to see a young man of about 14 running towards me as fast as his legs could carry him. "My goodness!", I exclaimed as he came to a halt in front of me. "Your Grace...", he gasped, "Telegram for you my lady...I feared your ship had left already."

"Thank you, young Sir!" I smiled at him and took the telegram from his hand. He bent over to catch his breath, and I slipped my hand into my pocket, retrieving an Antiquity Dollar. "Here you are." I offered him the dollar. He grinned and thanked me, turned and headed back towards the office of the Connolly Telegraph, which is where the actual, physical telegraph was located.

I unfolded the paper that the messenger had handed me:


Caledon Union

GABI STOP NEEDED TO TELL YOU STOP GET MAD STOP YOU ARE *THE* GABRIELLE RIEL STOP YOU ARE A QUEEN OF SOCIAL GRACE, DECADENT ALLURE, BLAZING PERSONALITY STOP YOU SHINE AND SPARKLE AT HIGH NOON STOP HOW DARE THIS PERSON WALK AWAY FROM YOU STOP MY OPINION - THIS PERSON IS A FOOL STOP LOVE YOUR FRIEND


I stared at the telegram in my hands. I read it a second time, and then a third.

Then it came...the rage...and the truth.

She's right. Oh good heavens... she is right!!! I felt almost light headed as the realization swept me.

I am Gabrielle Riel. I am the Duchess of Caledon Carntaigh. I am the leader of Radio Riel. I am a good person and a good friend. I am smart and funny and passionate. When I live and love, I do both to the absolute fullest. I have *so* much to offer to my friends...and to a lover. A lover that knows that they deserve everything I have to give. A lover that believes in me, instead of attacking me, judging me and constantly doubting me.

I love my Second Life...and I am the person that created it. I am strength that needs to meet strength...fire that needs to meet fire. I say what I mean, and I mean what I say. All I want is to love and be loved. It is NOT MY FAULT if someone refuses to accept the gift I give when I give myself.

That evening, I stood at the bow of the Venture, watching the sun set, as the ship skimmed the waves, bound for Port Caledon. The wind was calm and the air was pleasantly mild. It was the changing of the season....I would be home in Caledon by All Hallow's Eve.

I reached, and pulled the hidden necklace from underneath my shirtwaist - the necklace that I had been wearing since April 21, 2007. I tugged at it, trying to break the chain and pull it from my neck. The chain held. I pulled harder. The chain cut into the soft skin of my neck. Bloody hell. Using both hands, I ripped the necklace from me, wincing at the sting of the chain as it finally snapped painfully.

I stared at the necklace in my hands. It was so beautiful - fine silver chain...a round, sparkling diamond in a silver setting. So simple - so me - a piece so lovely. A piece worn by me...like the collar of a Gorian Slave Girl.

I slid my hand into my pocket and I withdrew a folded letter. The one letter that I had been unable to sacrifice to the flames of my fireplace. I unfolded it, and placed the necklace in the middle of it. A few words on the page jumped out at me as I carefully folded the letter around the necklace...wrapping it up like a precious gift...

Then hanging on, for both of us, is the right thing...

And yes we have time, neither of us, is going anywhere, especially with our hands so tightly grasped...

You and I, are still here. I am still with you. you are still within me...

I closed my hand tightly around the little package that represented my Love, drew back my arm, and pitched it into the sea.

"Goodbye."

It's time to go home.

Comments

sing it, sista!

imean /coughs/ hip, hip, Yehr Grace! /grins/

welcome home. Caledon lacks, without the Nightingale.
You have a very good friend indeed, to speak the truth so plainly.

Yr.,

Klaus Wulfenbach, Baron