Post by tingrin on Sept 21, 2006 8:36:36 GMT -5
Dearest, most beloved Illyana Nikolovna
I have not written to you this week and I hope you can find it in your heart to forgive me. I promise that it was not meant as a slight upon you. Things have been very…
There are no words I can think of to use to describe how things have been at the Institute this past few days. Suffice it to say, I have begun to start wondering more seriously about my future here.
Do I have a future here, Illyana? Our parents were so eager for me to come to New York. To them, America represents all that is right in the world, what everyone should aspire to. But it is an ugly place. I would rather be there on the farm, my family around me, working the land.
The luxuries cannot be denied, of course and not a day – sometimes, not even an hour goes by without my thanking my lucky stars for the fact that I have landed most firmly on my feet here. I have a room of my own, food that is both plentiful and delicious and I have friends. I have been shown how to utilise my abilities for the greater good and I have now been given the opportunity to put that into practise at least twice.
So why, then, do I ache for Siberia?
It is the land of my fathers, my father’s fathers and their fathers before then. Seven generations of Rasputin men have worked the farm, Illyana, and now I am here, who will follow their footsteps? Their works, their legacy will be left to wither and die.
Do not misunderstand me, babushka, I know that you are a Rasputin, but one day, you will marry and have sons and daughters of your own who will be of another family. When Mikhail failed to uphold the family tradition, much hope fell onto my shoulders. Yet how eager mother and papa were to see me come here: was it, I wonder, because I am a mutant?
Did they send me away, fearful of me, or what would become of me?
I am filled with such doubt, little Snowflake, that I do not know where I begin to reconcile my feelings. I wish the best, as they say, of both worlds.
I have found love, Illyana. Not the kind of love I have with you, and with our parents, but the kind of love I never imagined it would be possible to know. The kind of love that leaves you breathless, leaves you reeling, gasping for oxygen and wishing that there were many more hours in the day just so you can see the one you love for a little longer.
Yet…
I have destroyed something beautiful before it had a chance to grow. All around me I am burning bridges and I grow increasingly fearful that I will become stranded, alone and afraid.
Write to me, dearest sister. Tell me that all is well at home, because then at least I can put one fear to rest. Tell our parents that I love them, that I miss them.
As I do you.
Your loving brother,
Piotr Nikolaievitch
xxxx
I have not written to you this week and I hope you can find it in your heart to forgive me. I promise that it was not meant as a slight upon you. Things have been very…
There are no words I can think of to use to describe how things have been at the Institute this past few days. Suffice it to say, I have begun to start wondering more seriously about my future here.
Do I have a future here, Illyana? Our parents were so eager for me to come to New York. To them, America represents all that is right in the world, what everyone should aspire to. But it is an ugly place. I would rather be there on the farm, my family around me, working the land.
The luxuries cannot be denied, of course and not a day – sometimes, not even an hour goes by without my thanking my lucky stars for the fact that I have landed most firmly on my feet here. I have a room of my own, food that is both plentiful and delicious and I have friends. I have been shown how to utilise my abilities for the greater good and I have now been given the opportunity to put that into practise at least twice.
So why, then, do I ache for Siberia?
It is the land of my fathers, my father’s fathers and their fathers before then. Seven generations of Rasputin men have worked the farm, Illyana, and now I am here, who will follow their footsteps? Their works, their legacy will be left to wither and die.
Do not misunderstand me, babushka, I know that you are a Rasputin, but one day, you will marry and have sons and daughters of your own who will be of another family. When Mikhail failed to uphold the family tradition, much hope fell onto my shoulders. Yet how eager mother and papa were to see me come here: was it, I wonder, because I am a mutant?
Did they send me away, fearful of me, or what would become of me?
I am filled with such doubt, little Snowflake, that I do not know where I begin to reconcile my feelings. I wish the best, as they say, of both worlds.
I have found love, Illyana. Not the kind of love I have with you, and with our parents, but the kind of love I never imagined it would be possible to know. The kind of love that leaves you breathless, leaves you reeling, gasping for oxygen and wishing that there were many more hours in the day just so you can see the one you love for a little longer.
Yet…
I have destroyed something beautiful before it had a chance to grow. All around me I am burning bridges and I grow increasingly fearful that I will become stranded, alone and afraid.
Write to me, dearest sister. Tell me that all is well at home, because then at least I can put one fear to rest. Tell our parents that I love them, that I miss them.
As I do you.
Your loving brother,
Piotr Nikolaievitch
xxxx