Letter from Erik

Ra,

I remember the first time you laughed like you trusted the air around you.

You were exhausted, half-broken, covered in the kind of invisible bruises only I seemed to see—and something I said cut through the weight in your chest for just a second.

You laughed.

 It wasn’t loud.

 It wasn’t bright.

It was soft.

 Reluctant.

 Like your body had forgotten how.

I decided then that anyone who tried to take that sound away from you again would have to go through me.

You think of me as steady, as safe.

 You are right.

 But that safety is not softness, Ra.

It is violence, well-trained.

Every time you fall asleep near me, the wolf in my blood lies awake, listening for threats.

 Every time you stand in council chambers, spine straight, voice even, I’m watching the room, not you—

 reading pupils, heart rates, micro-expressions, and hands that hover too close to weapons or to you.

You mistake this for patience.

 It’s a restraint.

There are times I want to take you away from all of this—

 from the Accord, from prophecy, from the men who want you for their agenda, their ego, their fear of losing.

I imagine a small, quiet place with no politics, no war, no destiny.

 Just you, your sharp mouth, your stubbornness, your tired eyes softening when you finally believe me when I say:

You do not have to earn being loved.

If I touch you, it will not be to claim you.

 It will be to remind you there is at least one man in your life whose hands are not here to take.

But don’t mistake my gentleness for lack of hunger.

I have imagined kissing you more times than I will ever admit.

 Slow, unhurried, with the kind of care that unravels you one breath at a time until you forget every version of yourself that ever settled for less.

I have pictured you pressed against me, not because you are in danger—but because you finally, finally feel safe enough to want something for yourself.

I will never ask you to choose me.

 You have been chosen enough in ways that felt like cages.

But if you ever do—

 if you ever look at me with that steady, sovereign gaze of yours and say my name like you’re done running from what we both know is there—

Then I will not hesitate.

I will meet you where you stand, no games, no performance, no empire between us.

Just a wolf who has loved you for longer than you remember,

 and a woman who has always known where home is,

 even when the stars lied.

Until then, I will stand my post.

Guarding your life.

 Guarding your choices.

 Guarding your right to become whoever you decide to be.

They can worship you as a weapon, prophecy, or savior.

 I’ll keep loving you as a person.

—Erik

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