Avgust

I first met Constance J. Delaware almost a century ago, yet the memory of her first impression remains as clear as if it were yesterday. She asked me: “Does the Overground have a Director?”

I thought long on whether or not to publish this biography, for it is not about Avgust: it is about Constance. It is about her journey to understand herself through understanding him, and says far more of the author than the subject. As such it is both a vital part of the history of Principality and an intensely personal piece of writing.

Having consulted those who knew them best, and in no small part drawn on my own experiences of them, I have concluded Constance would not begrudge the world this insight: indeed, in the end, it was important to her that she should not care whether or not this biography was published.

For those of us interested in the history of Principality, and two of the most influential figures in shaping what it is today, this work is of course invaluable, but in my opinion the most important story you will find in these pages is that of a woman who finally managed to let go.

River Sadiq-Taylor

A reproduction of a page of handwriting, set atop several neat stacks of pages written in a different hand, all kept in a case by Alexis Knight until her death. The paper is marked by tearstains near the bottom.

27th December 2201

It seems almost too difficult to begin to write this as I sit in this old office. Yet, I feel like I have to. I imagine Constance felt a similar way staring down each and every attempted draft of this text forming the mountains of papers she collected over the years.

This time of year has always been so happy for me. It’s around this time some 61 years ago that I truly met my Connie, back before Principality was reclaimed, before we could even dream of effecting any of the incredible changes we’ve made to our world. Now, though, it is tinged with the sorrow that I am spending it alone again. I suppose that’s why I have taken to reading through these pages. I hear her voice in every word, every stroke of a pen is a gentle caress to my soul, and yet every sentence pulls at the strings of my heart knowing how much of the past clung to my beloved’s mind.

I can’t help but feel that we have been lucky. Lucky to be alive to see the world we lived in expand, and to drive that expansion, from the dark and lonely tunnels of the Underground to what truly became our home. Lucky to have known and loved so many incredible people that have passed into the pages of history, but will forever live in my memories as treasured friends. Lucky to have found such treasure beneath the mask of a troubled soul: a mystery, wrapped in an enigma, hidden within a puzzle – and full of so much care and hope that, were she simply to be given the chance, she would emerge from her cocoon, spread her wings, and take flight. I cannot express just how honoured I was to take flight alongside her.

I admit, I’m not much of a poet. It was my sweetheart’s soul that was really captured by that particular art. Still, I think together we brought about incredible beauty in our own way. As Secretaries of Principality under Director Mirax Caspian, we built our world to be better – both the above and the below. But the chains of the past are long, and its shackles hold tight to the minds of many, not least of whom Constance. Our exposure to the world above ground was eye opening for us both, but we lived for the first third of our lives under the authority Director Kovač and the notion of such a figure could not leave her mind as quickly as we left zir regime.

I don’t expect these pages will ever see the light of day, but if they do, I hope the eyes of the world will understand how little we knew, how much we healed, and just what she meant to me particularly. Perhaps, when I too have departed, I might ask a friend to collect what she has written. Then in a way, she’ll live on. I’d like that.

Connie – wherever you are now, if there is somewhere for you to have been waiting for me these past two years, know that you were as much my light as I was yours. The years we spent rebuilding this place, and the years we spent truly living at last were the best of my life. I will not forget one moment of it, nor regret one second. The children of our community are our children, and their smiles keep me from loneliness in these times.

Even so, I miss you my little moth.

Wait for me. I’m coming too.

By Gareth M.

A reproduction of an excerpt handwritten on a tearstained page. It is accompanied by a faded photo of Constance and Alexis on their wedding day.

28 February 2171

I sit here today on the 30th anniversary of the day when I first saw the sun, with a stack of pages on my desk much larger than any I ever dealt with in my twenty years at Medicus. This is the last addition I will make to them, I’m determined of that. Why am I still writing then, you might ask. Why not go cold turkey, leave and never look back? A younger me might have said that it is because I crave closure; ten years ago I might’ve thought that was a very mature and insightful response, but I’m getting older, and I don’t claim to be any wiser but I am grateful to find myself easing slowly out of the vice grip that this need for closure has had on me all my life.

All these years I’ve spent searching for answers, searching for truths, dissecting any I found, questioning, qualifying, complicating. I once met a wonderful young woman who wanted nothing more than to search, to discover, to explore the world around her, and I related to that, but I never felt that freedom, that flight, always too mesmerised by the flames that consumed me. That is not to say that Alexis ever had it easy, and I consider it my greatest privilege in life to have been granted to stay by her side all this time, even when I rarely ever made it easy for her. She’s sleeping right now. Dawn has only just begun, just as it did on that day all these years ago that changed all our lives forever. I can hear her snoring gently, and already I can’t wait to put this page aside and make her breakfast. I’m grateful to be able to say that earnestly. So often over the years these pages have pulled me back, each time for a different reason, and though I regret the time and attention they have at times stolen from our lives, I concede that it was likely necessary.

To have found myself over the last few years increasingly freed of this compulsion is a great relief, and I am proud to have done what I could to secure myself a means of retiring in good conscience to spend the rest of my days soaking up the light of the sun, wherever she goes. I have before my eyes so many countless times throughout my career when she was there to guide my way, to talk me down, to bring me home. The administration of the Underground and Principality owe her a tremendous debt, not only for the tireless hours she has poured into them, but for the many poor decisions she has prevented me from making over the years. The very thought of her still brings tears to my eyes even after so many years by her side. Perhaps I will never be able to shake the thought that I am not good enough for her, but I can make sure to try every day.

To my guiding light, thank you, with all my heart,

Your little moth, for ever and always.

By Sophia dM.