Hello friends...well, I watched V for Vendetta and became mega obsessed. And I know, I know, the old "V lives" thing has been done a lot. But I read all of those, and had nothing better to do. So, I decided to take the plunge and write one myself. Reviews would be lovely, but, I won't become some review monger. Enjoy lovelies!
My Dearest V,
I know that you will never read these words, but it comforts me to write them none the less. It was nearly two hours ago that you gave your life for your revolution. The pain of losing you is almost indescribable. My heart feels as though it is being ripped in half. I will never stop missing you. But more importantly, I will never stop loving you. I don't know when I realized it, but I regret how long it took me to find out. Death is interesting in that respect. It makes you realize your regrets, after it's too late. So I'm left to wonder what might have happened had I realized this sooner. Would you still be here? Would you have ever made that fateful deal with Creedy? Would we have watched London rise, together?
But I'm not writing you to ask "what if". I want you to know, that while I don't agree with you, I understand why you made the choices you did. Why you felt that you had no place in the world that was about to take flight. Revenge can only spark a revolution; it cannot lead it. I realize that. I respect and admire that. But you couldn't have been more wrong. Of course you have a tree waiting for you. It is here, with me. I wasn't lying when I said that you were one of the most important things that has ever happened to me. You made me who I am today. I will always admire your strength, your courage, and your genius. I will always remember your idea, but more importantly I will always remember you, the man. I love you, V. With all of my heart. If I could tell you just one more thing, that would be it. I'm sorry it took me this long to realize.
So although you will not be here to see me do it, I will continue your revolution in a way I hope you see fit. I will see to it that your sacrifices were not in vain. You will have your revolution, and the people will always remember you. The man. The man that I love.
With a shaky breath, Evey Hammond gently replaced the pen to its rightful place on V's desk. The stationary she had been writing on was now covered in her fine script, along with many of her tears. Drawing herself up, Evey carried the sheet with her out of V's illustrious study and into the Shadow Gallery's main room.
She sat on his chaise lounge and stared at the piece of parchment. What was the tradition about writing letters to the dead? Was she to burn the letter? Let it drift down an ambling brook? It was something that V would have known. Evey was almost able to smile, picturing the scene as V effortlessly recalled the fact that he had read long ago. Almost. She looked down at the letter once again, letting yet another tear fall onto its yellowing surface. The tear landed on her signature at the end of the letter, warping it, making it almost unrecognizable.
Evey decided that it would be best not to take any action with the letter, lest she horribly offend some ancient custom that V could have properly taught her about. No, without V's instruction she decided that for now, it would be better this way. She stood, and walked slowly towards the old Wurlitzer. Pressing the button she knew would both haunt and heal her, Evey played the song of their last dance. The music played slowly out of the jukebox as Evey stood in the middle of the room with her eyes closed, letter pressed close to her chest. She swayed gently, and with the memory still so fresh and precious, she could even feel V's hand gently alighted on her hip. She could feel how his hand tentatively gripped hers, as if he either didn't believe she was actually there, or didn't want to harm or frighten her. Perhaps it was both.
The song faded out, and with a "click" the Wurlitzer stopped. Evey opened her eyes to take in the Gallery. She had always been amazed at the beautiful home V had made for himself in such a dark place. The treasures he had amassed here were unbelievable, and during her stay here, she always went to explore the nooks and crannies of the Gallery when she had that chance. When she curled up with one of his old books, or perhaps sat in front of an old painting of his, Evey could sense the pride emanating from the mask, V loving that someone else enjoyed his collection. And even though he had left it all to her, even though now it was her collection, Evey couldn't stay here. It would be far too difficult. The memories began to suffocate her, both the good and the bad, and she knew that she had to leave.
Evey placed the sheet of paper on the Wurlitzer after placing a soft kiss on her beloved's name. She stood back to look around. This place had become such an integral part of her life, but now she felt almost wrong being here, knowing that V would not soon be walking through the door or making her favorite "eggy in a basket" in the kitchen. Maybe one day, she would be strong enough to return. If anything, just to maintain the Gallery. To dust and clean V's prized possessions and take care of Valerie's shrine. She could at least do that for him, after everything he had done for her. But that day would not come. Not for a long time.
Before she could turn and walk out the door, Evey was suddenly struck by an impulse. She wandered back through the Gallery and walked directly to the door she never thought she would have to courage to approach. The door to V's quarters. For a brief second, Evey wondered if she should give V his privacy, even in death. But she knew that was foolish. He had told her, the night of her release from prison, that there would no longer be any locked doors here in the Gallery. And furthermore, technically, this room was now hers. Everything was. She hated using that logic for doing something as sacred as this, entering V's bedroom, but she couldn't stop herself. She pushed open the door, and quickly approached his closet. Normally, Evey would have been filled to the brim with curiosity. But she already felt like she was crossing a line, and did not want to snoop in this man's most private dwelling. Evey threw open the door to the closet and saw V's wardrobe, meticulously hung up and organized. Everything was either black or some variant of the color; grays and the odd navy shirt hung up in his closet. Evey reached tentatively towards a black shirt that looked familiar, and gently touched the soft, silky fabric. Before she could change her mind, Evey slid the shirt off of its hanger as carefully as she could, and tossed it over her arm. She shut the door to the closet, and without lingering she closed the door to his room as well.
As a courtesy, Evey turned all of the lights off in the Gallery, before taking one last look at what had once been her sanctuary and her prison. Finally, she turned on her heel, and with her new acquisition, walked out of the Shadow Gallery.
It was late by the time Evey returned home. She had taken her time, watching the people of London rejoice in their new freedom. Every time she saw a Guy Fawkes mask, her heart skipped a beat, but none of them could ever hold a candle to her lost beloved. Regardless, it made Evey's heart swell with happiness as she watched what V's work had brought about in London. He had freed these people of their fear; he had pointed them towards the path that would lead to their freedom. So Evey Hammond took her time as she walked back home that November the 5th. Because as the people walked about London that night, she could almost feel V's presence.
She let herself into her flat, and shrugged off her jacket. Everything was the way she had left it the night of the fourth, anxiously getting ready to return to the masked revolutionary. It chilled her. Deciding against a shower, in part because she was too tired and also because she wanted the last residue of him to remain with her that night, Evey changed into a pair of knickers and slid on V's shirt. It was far too large, swinging down lazily over her thighs, but Evey didn't care. It still smelled like him, and still felt like him. So she crawled into bed with his shirt wrapped around her. She would be stronger in the morning. She would get a grip once she woke up. She would become the strong, fearless voice of the revolution that V wanted her to be. But for now, the fates would watch as the strong Evey Hammond crumbled and wept.