WSJ: I... Hate... My... Life...! *bangs head against the desk with each word*
Angua: *blinks* Whoa, chill out girl! What's wrong?
WSJ: *gives her a Look* My throat is incredibally sore. It hurts to swallow, and yet it makes me involentarily swallow every ten seconds or so!
Susan: Er... Want me to give you a remedy for that?
WSJ: Ugh, no! I don't trust you!
Susan: *looks indignant*
WSJ: Anyway, I just finished reading Mort and for some reason was inspired to do this. I don't own the Discworld, it belongs to the Almighty Pterry. But then, you guys knew that, right?
Susan and Angua: *nods*
WSJ: *sighs* On to the story...
Dearest little brother,
I hear you're making quite a name for yourself. Married with a daughter, eh? Hope you're happy.
As for me, I fear I shall be an old maid. Not that I mind of course... For a while I was thinking of going to Ankh-Morpork, but now I am rather content, since I began to Remember things about my favorite little brother.
Yes Remember. I know about you and Ysabell (what a sweet little thing she is!) and Susan (I wish she could come visit) and Death. Of course. I don't know how I know, just that I do. And I have four faint lines across my cheek where I Remember Death slapped you.
This isn't how inherritance works! It doesn't go backwards, it doesn't skip a generation, and it certainly doesn't go sideways or diagnal. But apparently it did. I can walk through walls, I can do THE VOICE. I try not to too much, lest someone take notice of me.
I shouldn't be able to, not with you and Ysabell and Susan still alive. If something happened to teh three of you, well, then I'd understand.
But anyway, I hope you can come to visit sometime, although I'll bet the Duke of Sto Helit is rather busy. That's ok.
Everything up here is good. Papa died last summer, although I bet you probably already know. Heck, while I was sloshing through the rain to try to get to his deathbed, you were probably already saying your last good-byes.
I Remember the future, and it tends to worry me. But who am I to judge? Just... Nevermind, I'm beginning to ramble. Forget I said anything. It's better that way.
Take care Mort.
Susan blinked a tear out of her eye and sat staring at the letter. She was in Death's attic. It was another of those places where he'd tried his best, but it hadn't quite turned out right. The boxes were un-openable and there was always a dusty shaft of sunlight coming through the single window, even if it was the middle of the night.
But one box had been openable. It had been full of old letters, most of them from Susan's father or mother to Death. She'd even found one in messy crayon from her four-year-old self to Binky.
And this one.
Albert had informed her that it had arrived at the house of Sto Helit about a week after Mort and Ysabell had died. 'Too bad,' Susan thought. 'She missed them by only a little...'
Glancing up toward the ceiling she sighed. "She must've really loved you Dad..."
Below, sounding rather far away, since it was, was the sound of the front door opening and closing and someone walking around. "Susan," The person yelled. "Aibou, where are you?"
Susan carefully placed the letter in the beam of sunshine, where it would eventually fade and desentigrate. She started to the ladder leading out and never looked back.
"Coming beloved! I'M COMING!"
WSJ: ^_^; Rather pathetic, I know... Oh, and by the way, if you're wondering who Susan's beloved is, who else besides another "anthropomorphic personification" would be able to fine Death's house, let alone enter it? And who's the only other A.P. Susan't ever had contact with? (Hint: clocks). So that's the answer. Or my answer anyway. Oh, and aibou means partner or soulmate.
God bless minna-san!