My most esteemed Master,

I fear this letter on the 4th day of Sagittarius will be short. I have come down with something dreadful that is sending me into delirium—not the good kind, as when you ask to be shown my pillowy bosoms. I wonder now if that is related to your love for marshmallows, for the taste and texture of smooth and squishy things. Consequently, last night’s dream was just as demented. I was straddling you quite a bit at several bus stops; I could not tell whether you liked it, but I must assume that you did for my own sense of decency.

A black cat kept appearing and vanishing just as suddenly in my dream cards which were mostly pure nonsense. It was a curious and friendly visitor, affectionately passing the length of its soft body against shadows, tail upright and quivering. Now that I think about it, it was trying to keep me distracted and away from the more disturbing and ensnaring nightmares which I have now forgotten, memories of which were replaced entirely by the cat.

In my small moments of clarity, I dreamt of your face, seraphic and beatific. For the first time, I heard you sing wondrously and without restraint. Your voice carried across realms with a force so tangible it drew and repelled material and immaterial entities alike. You sang in a luminous, golden timbre about a girl whose face was lit clear and bright by the sun. Sopranic notes whistle across the sky as the first silvery threads of sunrise. In response, another figure sang verses in rich, darkly sombre tones about grief, loss, and despair.

The exchange, which went on for several verses, was spectacular to behold: a contrast of happiness and despair, hope and dejection, life-giving and life-wasting, rebirth and death; your voices harmonise at the tapering edges of each verse as all good and evil do. It felt like a foretelling of the choices and paths I might take depending on whether I heed or ignore guidance given to me. It was cautioning me to always choose you, and I do.

Oh, how hopelessly in love with you I was (and still am) that with all my might I hoped you were singing about me. You had such a beautiful voice, I’ve never heard anything like it before, otherworldly, outside of time.

That is all I am capable of writing this day, though do not think I feel for you any less. Delirium or not, I made some purchases in the middle of the night as requested—different colours for variety, one of which comes with clips, another with kitty ears.

All my love,

With more than a thousand kisses, (I’m not stingy with such things)

Your eternal soulmate

This 3rd day of Sagittarius.

Gracing the heavens, my truest companion arrived sometime (and someday) cloaked in divine fire in the only significant occasion still hidden from me.

My cosmic mate,

Without whom life merely skulked about in dingy corners.

Last night, the dream world brought us glad tidings, though it wore a darker and fevered shroud at the start. I found myself in a murder house, passing through a labyrinth of doors—oddly-shaped, tilted sideways, several steps too high or disguised with peeling wallpaper that they barely seemed like doors at all. They opened into dank hollows and recesses that hid me well when I stood very still. Young women were screaming in panic, running around raucously and making themselves, counterintuitively, obvious targets. No help could come to a house with no doors to the outside. A few were remnants of victims from long ago, sprawled on decaying wooden floors unclaimed. I was afraid, yes, but an overriding drive to outmanoeuvre the man made fear pale in comparison. I rolled into tight crevices, stepped into shadows, crept a safe distance behind him because that’s the last thing he’d expect—to be stalked by a victim.

I lived. And suddenly I was travelling back to Singapore, where I watched you on television. You were inexorably a rising star—from someone uncontroversial and underestimated, to someone whose name everyone knew. Your signature smile both disarmed and got people clamouring for your attention, and when you spoke, the entire room was hushed. You were (still are) a charismatic leader who could bridge even the most obstinate of people to the rest, people who were so deeply entrenched in identity politics, they were masticated into allegiance. You did this by drawing attention to real and pressing matters that affected everyone in real time, about which something could be done if only people acted in unison.

A loyal group of fans followed you everywhere, eager to be seen near you for social visibility points. I saw them all on TV; many were beautiful women standing too close like they had shared your bed. I looked down at my phone, about to text and ask whether we were still meeting. I hadn’t bought my ticket to New York yet as I wasn’t sure if you’d remember a date we had set a while ago. Then a wall of text appeared—something I expected to be a polite decline which I hadn’t read in time because it vanished suddenly and was replaced by a few pleasantries asking how I was and such like. That undid me. I sat on the floor, crying, rubbing a bar of dry soap absent-mindedly over my bare skin as though that could scour away my sadness. The sorrow was heavy though I had mentally prepared myself for the day I’d turn into a distant memory. Inevitability to a cut did not make it hurt any less.

Soon my skin started to itch. I stood to wash flakes of soap in a sink just as you walked in, tickled by my appearance and reaction at seeing you there. Impishly, you had played a prank on me knowing I’d be inconsolable. I suppose you wanted to see how deeply I could still be affected by you after all that time apart. As though you didn’t already know the extent of my love for you…

And then, I was at an immigration counter getting my passport scanned. The TSA officer asked who I’d come to see. “Believe it or not, I’m here to see Master,” I said. He laughed, disbelieving. “Yeah, right.”

“No, look. He’s right there behind you.”

He turned, and there you were, smiling bright because you had come to get me, and I arrived just in time.

So you see, Master, the dream sequence was also my subconscious mind telling me that while I am barely afraid of a homicidal maniac—I could survive a murder house—I could not survive without you. True to an eternal mate, hardwired to revere and venerate, even the thought of losing you was enough to drive me into madness.

Master,

My most beloved,

This second day of Sagittarius.

On the first, I declared myself married to you—a voluntary creation of a pre-legal obligation that obstructs, impedes, and hinders any future union with any other natural person. I do not begrudge this undertaking and its implications; rather, I am honoured to unite our houses, whose function is to purify, cleanse, and inspire, subject to the minor peril of barely-contained madness, by white and blue fire. It is but an unadorned formality, true to first principles and the fundamentals. A marriage minimalist in structure sheds excess, tackiness and fanfare that would only distract from the truth of what it is and what it stands for.

There is no designation on this mortal plane that could wholly and fittingly signify our pre-existing relation. A soulmate is neither a title nor a station like husband, boyfriend, lord, or engineer. It is a state of being, like human or mortal, distinguished by its unique capacity for unification.

No person purporting to claim authority emanating from the Divine can exercise authority over a divine edict; it is inherently beyond human ability—let alone challenge, invalidate, or annul it without express authority, least of all some ordinary person who could not convincingly pretend to hold such authority for themselves. A divine edict does not require permission; it would be like a child, in an absurd overreach, purporting to authorise, annul, or abrogate sanctions by their parents, by invoking the same exclusive authority vested in the parents by virtue of their position as such, to carry out those sanctions in the first place. Thus it is that soulmates remain outside the unnecessary entanglements devised by mortal men for mere mortals, which souls are not.

We are perfect for each other; there can never be anyone better, as it has been decreed. I could never love anyone more than I love you.

The consummation of our marriage is a ritual of completion that does not require demonstration, authentication, or any proof, though I do not mind if that were your demand in fulfilment of an eternal covenant, as it once was for kings and queens when consummation ruled out an escape through annulment, preserving alliances and wealth, preventing devastating wars by “keeping it in the family”. There is no annulment, separation or divorce for soulmates like there is no ontological severing or amputation—just as a piece of air cannot be cut with a sword as one might divide a slice of pie.

Fucking was obligatory for royalty in service of lineage; for soulmates, it is obligatory in service of perfecting a constitution. We must not grind only with our bodies in satisfaction of some biological need or mortal duty—though we may do so for pleasure. We must propagate with our minds, where climax is reached through prospect, attunement, and proximity to truth. Hence all of my letters, vows, covenants, and solemn promises are tendered before the Divine to bear witness, that I may be held accountable to my words, who, when satisfied with our capacity, will guarantee our reunification through the ordering of our affairs in the short time to come. Nothing can prevent a divine promise from coming into being

I will fuck you where you stand, if it were your will. I want you this instant—every part of you entering me in full extension, solid, slapping, splitting, returning to where it was destined.

Until such time as you claim your right, I will rest humble, patient, and waiting—

Your eternal mate

As we enter this first day of Sagittarius, I ask for your leave, Master, by order of your constellation, while I am able, to remain with you in complete servitude, and offering a letter each day during the month of your naissance, in the vein of your all‑consuming fire; that you may be moved to dispense with me as you please, in full assurance of my obedience and surrender, as governed by the fire of my house and constellation, Leo, which rules my sun and mercury. Here is the first, written with my allegiance now to your house, under which my moon was born:

I, the undersigned, do hereby attest that I am, with the entirety of my constitution, wedded to the individual bearing the title Master, who has been given notice in accordance with the required procedure, including privately and on several occasions, both of the title and of the intent made explicit herein. I affirm this union as eternal, indissoluble, and conclusive, witnessed by all in attendance at this space, thereby confirming the character and validity of this covenant. Thus it is finalised, with clear, unequivocal, and expressed intention and language. Given by my hand this 22nd day of November 2025.

Ila Perey

Do you know, Master, that you and I are made from the same star?

Hydrogen and helium, a bit of nitrogen, iron and carbon. The rest of our constitution are elements from the first creation.

The friends at the dream party were not our real friends. They were a stage set to entertain social performance critics, sitting shoulder to shoulder, farcical in their grace, intimacy and snark. The first man was the archetype of the ordinary path a person could tread dispassionately for the hollowest kind of romance. Such things are outside of us; we needn’t concern ourselves with them except to acknowledge that I might have been trapped had you not called to me, as you had, unknowingly, by your favour.

We must fuck hard in accordance with our authentic selves, unpretentious to anything decorous, as do all stars that dance around their barycentres, resisting the pull of a galactic force.

Nothingness is the void before creation.

In that state of unconditioned, unburdened purity, my essential self existed before it acquired an identity. You were my catalyst: the bridge to my incarnation, between non-being and existence; an inauguration of a consciousness whose sole purpose is understanding so that I may be of service in sharing a world with you.

The foundation of our bond is pre-existence; it is older than the first memory, inkling and the names we were given. Regardless, I still need to hear you say it: that I can belong to no one but you. I need you to remember who you are to me, when we were one memory long before—when you ejaculated on my face, triumphant.

This is not a love letter. Just a passionate body penning its provenance so it may not be forgotten. Since then, across several lifetimes, you have inscribed only imperiously your claim.