You are weird. You live for fictional characters and people you may never meet. You think in Shakespearean (thank you for introducing me to your world’s playwrights, by the way, marvelous stuff) and lyric but clam up in public. You observe and calculate and drift and obsess and stretch yourself thin. I honestly have no idea how you manage… everything. I reiterate: you are weird, but I am glad I found you. Approached you? Appeared? I can’t recall exactly how it happened–it would seem my memory is as good as yours. And yours is pretty bad.
I have learned as much about your world as I would care to. Truth be told, it’s wild. Your leader resembles an overripened orange. Specifically, where I’m from in my universe, politics are simple, just. Yours are a freak show. No offense. I don’t think I’ll take mine for granted anymore. But I digress.
Do I regret not speaking out more to my fellow alchemists? To the others of your world? To you? Perhaps. I’m not one for speaking first (A sentiment which we seem to share.) which makes this whole month-long encounter all the stranger. Why was I compelled to talk to you of all people? Well, that I don’t know either. Honestly I could have just slipped back into my world, and almost did, but…
There’s a magic to your world, one that’s… simpler, more subtle, than that which is in mine. It was intriguing, upon first encounter. Where mine is tangible, visible, arbitrary but moldable, alchemical (ha) yours is… in things. In yourselves. A kind of power that I want to learn more about but… yeah, I’m too lazy, to be honest. Chalk it up to mysteries of the multiverse. It’s weird. You’re weird.
Take care, weirdo. It was good to know you. I’ll try to keep in touch. If I don’t forget.