Don’t give up. There’s still a week till you’re to wed the Ofieri. I’ll think of something. Perhaps I’ll get the coin by then, perhaps my tears will convince your father, perhaps the gods will hear our prayers – or if not they, perhaps some devil will. If nothing else helps, I’ll crash into the temple through the window and swoop you up from the altar. We’ll flee somewhere far, far away, to the edge of the world, where no one will find us.
You write of sadness. I feel its weight, too. I think of you constantly. Of how we sat at the Alchemy till dawn nursing a bottle of wine, and you traced our dream house in the sawdust on the floor. Of how we dangled our feet in the water from the dock and you sang those bawdy songs and made me laugh and laugh. I kiss the medallion carrying your portrait before I fall asleep and as soon as I wake.
I swear on all that is holy: we shall be together forever. Be brave.