Darling sister, you were dancing the Charleston when I second saw you. First time, things were foggy and corrupted; a surprise encounter that neither of us were prepared for but the second time was Rhythm, Doctor Who and Class As. You blew me away. Less a hurricane and more a Brighton sea breeze. Your intellect, your honesty, your joy. No explanations necessary, no apologies needed. Who else could empathise so completely? Teenage witch telepathy.

I figure that will come in handy. When revolution comes we’ll stand side by side because, y’know, we’ve fought together before. You and your .45; me and my tank. I’ve always got your back, grrl. We’ve conquered enemies more insidious and conniving than governments or armies. We are the dragon slayers, flappers with knives hidden in garter belts. And when the dust settles, we’ll dance the Charleston to make our revolution worth having.

I hope you’re having a magical time, bearcat.


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