“I write this from my sickbed, the window open to let in the night air. It gives me clarity. When I think of you, I think of brilliance—raw, unshaped, beautiful. But it occurs to me that your magic is both your greatest gift and your greatest escape. You wield it so readily that I fear you forget the person behind it. So I ask you this: Is your magic an expression of who you are, or a distraction from who you could be? I never discovered the answer for myself, and perhaps that is why my life feels unfinished. Do not let yours drift the same way.”