The days have passed very quickly and my personal duties have kept me occupied. It has been a whirlwind bunch of weeks, and even now the spectre of deadlines looms over my head. But I would be remiss if I did not write you; I enjoy it and it provides much needed rapport, especially now that I am not at home anymore. As you know I have barely left the vicinity of the House. When you are born and raised in a certain manner, it takes a lot of resolve to break free completely, to sever all ties immediately. And so I do not see myself straying too far from home in the foreseeable future. I am still feeling out the terrain, seeing if I really can make it without the support of the Family. Besides, I am holding out on the chance that you will fling open the still-visible gates and come running, finally ready to show your face and assure me that you have been here all along. There is also that issue of my inheritance and the advantage of close proximity to the deliverables. It’s been a few weeks Father; this is unbecoming.
The creature I wrote about last time is still here, and I must say he is a very talkative fellow. He seems to speak without moving his mouth, although every once in a while he employs the orifice, much to my satisfaction. You cannot possibly imagine how terrifying it was to hear his voice and see his smiling lips not moving. He speaks, dear Father, and he speaks about everything. Even the most mundane things grab his attention. The only time he seems to shut up is when I do not think too much on an issue. The moment I turn my attention to something and give it even a modicum of consideration, the winged creature is ready with a laundry list of opinions about what to do and what not to do, how to think and how not to think. Sometimes it is entertaining, but it after a while it gets quite exhausting. I am still not sure whether or not he is in the direct employ of You-Know-Who. If he is, he must (as I stated in my last letter) be very low in the hierarchy. His chatting is mildly amusing at best, slightly irritating at worst. I haven’t performed any egregiously immoral acts under his tutelage.
Listen to me, yammering on about my tiny acquaintance. He is not the topic of this letter, as you must have already surmised. No. The topic of this letter is Sophie, the woman that has captivated this poor child of yours. You must know Sophie, Father; she is quite old. As old, dare I say, as you. Of course I do not mean this in the literal sense. We your children have no means of dating things that occurred before we were made, and so even though we believe that you are far, far older than time itself, we must agree that our knowledge of you is only as old as we are. And so is Sophie. Imagine that for a moment Father. Pause your constantly spinning wheel of knowledge, suspend the voice in your magnificent head that disagrees, and imagine a being that is as old as you. A part of me shudders just thinking that I may have a chance with her.
She is not just old dear Father; she is also very, very elusive. Like a giggling, playful sprite she flits in and out of my head, whispering thoughts that are so profound I feel like my mind might explode, and then leaving them half-finished, watching me (I assume) as I claw at my hair in a mad attempt to follow her questions to what could only be amazing answers. You must know Sophie, dear Father. In fact I posit that you must have her. A being as great as you cannot not know Sophie. And of course, going by Family doctrine, because you made Everything, it only stands to reason that you made Sophie too.
She has been pursued by countless others before me. Almost every group of your children, separated by continents and oceans and deserts, has attempted to court this mighty lady. All cultures have powerful adages, pithy aphorisms, age old instructions, all suited to the pursuit, acquaintance and wooing of the wonderful lady Sophie. Books have been written about her revelations, and countless of stricken fellows like me have pored over these in hopes of acquiring the skills that she has deigned to bestow upon my brethren. It is, in part, this love for Sophie, this desperation for her approval, that led to my departure from the House. My search for her (and on a deeper level, for you) has led me Outside and it is my fervent hope that this search will lead me back home.
What am I saying, Father? I am saying that I am in love, madly in love with Sophie. I felt it wise to tell you this explicitly. Your Book contains countless references to her, and I intend to study them intently. Other children, from other Houses, have also written at great length about her; some have even gone to schools for the sole purpose of learning her ways and taming her wily spirit. I, as you know, am not one of those. I am but an amateur, a young, naïve, besotted individual, and I hope that as my Father, you can put in a good word to her on my behalf.
So wish me luck, dear Father, and grant me grace; it is a long and twisted road to her heart.
With much infatuation,
Your Prodigal Son
P.S. As you know, her proper name is Sophia. When you speak with her, please do not let her know that I have taken to referring to her in the diminutive form. I feel she may not realise that it is only love that gives me the confidence to call her Sophie…
The creature on my shoulder is laughing at me. Apparently seeing me nervous is amusing to him.