finding my own reflection standing there.
Dieu. I think I have to just sit down and get this all clear and collected. Because right now, it's buzzing around in my head in a giant mess, and not actually making much sense. At all. Or...it just hurts.
So, the first thing I knew about this was a letter asking if I'd seen him, but he's only been gone the odd day or so, so I tell her, I believe, that he could just have had to do something unexpected and he'll be back soon and be entirely confused as to why she's worried. It's the sensible thing to tell anyone. But there was that chill up my spine which told me that this was going to be brutal, unfair and just...wrong. That I'd have to do for her something I never thought I'd have to. I never wanted her to have to understand what this felt like again.
I don't hear much again until she writes on the scrolls, and that sickening feeling in the bottom of my stomach gets stronger. Then, a few days later, she writes to me and says she's reporting it to the Ministry, but I shouldn't come, it'll be fine, and her dad's there with her. He understands it too, and I'm...lost as to where I stand with anything at this point. I know her dad is far more important than I ever will be, but I also get the impression she's just saying that because...she's worried about me coming there.
So, I go back to work for the next couple of days, very distracted, my mind running over several scenarios, desperately trying to spot Caradoc (who I don't even remember the face of too well), in any and every crowd. In fucking Paris. I was pretty sure if I found him here, alive and well, I'd punch him in the face for leaving her stuck like that. But I'd be a lot more damn at ease about the entire situation. I'd know she wouldn't be hurt like I had been, I'd know she didn't need to suffer that pain again.
I got an owl yesterday, bang slap in the middle of a meeting. It was written in shaky handwriting, and I don't remember many of the words. She wasn't asking me for anything, she just needed to talk, and she'd shouted at her dad and felt awful for it. It probably wasn't quite like she put it, but I could see how she thought it. However, all I needed to see were the words "I don't know what to do, search or mourn," in her handwriting, and a great sense of how...hopeless she felt came over me. This was Hestia, epitomy of optimism in a depressing world and she had started to give up hope.
I didn't even send her one back, and I certainly didn't go back to discussing how many people we could afford to send out to French Guyana and what magical education we could fund there. I just decided I was taking my leave then and there and nothing else.
Although, I'm not entirely sure I can really describe everything that went off when I got there. Her dad didn't actually seem too surprised or pissed off to see me. I had actually anticipated him punching me in the face and sending me away. I would have accepted it too, but in some senses, he seemed rather resigned about it all too, like he didn't care who I was, as long as I could help Hestia. Maybe it was the same feeling I was getting; having been here before, knowing exactly how this felt, and hating every moment it was happening to her. Except probably worse, as he was her father and I couldn't even come near to comprehending how any of this felt to him. I could try.
He soon left to see if he could get anything off the Ministry, but I doubted either of them would have much luck, not being his family. What me and Hestia talked about...I couldn't really say. I wasn't there to offer rather empty words of sympathy, or that wasn't my intention, anyway, I wanted to give her some hope about the whole situation, or failing that, just be someone to ramble to, or even a shoulder to cry on. I don't know how she did it for me at all. I think I managed a bit of all three, probably more of the latter. I did feel useful, though, like I was genuinely helping someone, and not just cowering away in France.
She went to sleep, though, on me, which would normally have been the most awkward thing ever, but a lot of rules go out the window in situations like this. I did get to have an interesting conversation with her dad when he got back, though. Apparently, the Ministry are starting to give up a lot of these missing people for dead. Not that they're not looking, but they do have a rather depressing outlook on the whole situation. I asked him why he'd even let me talk to her, as it seemed an odd decision from where I was sat, to be honest. Because she trusts me, and the fact I came here shows I'm worthy of that trust, and there are times he just can't deal with seeing her like that. I'd never talked much to her dad before, but he gave me coffee (actually offered me whiskey...) and we had a long talk about Hestia, Caradoc and...dealing with being alone. He understands, and I wish none of us would have to, but it was surprisingly easy to talk to him about it all. In the end we agreed that it might be sensible to make sure she doesn't get hassled or in trouble herself. She seems happy with that, unless there's news about Caradoc. ...I don't get the feeling there will be.
He is also the Welshest man I have ever met, but that's besides the point. I'm going to stay here a bit and help them out, I think. I know. I just wish I didn't have to.
I thought I'd let you know, I'm back in the country again. And I'm staying for a while. I have to. Don't worry about me, though. I know what I'm doing here.
this is difficult. So fucking difficult.
I miss you,
Abime.
Anybody who wants to talk to Hestia Jones is welcome, but they should come through her father or myself first. That's all. Please, if anyone has any information about Caradoc Dearborn, contact her. Or us, or the Ministry.