A Series of Correspondence, part 1
Author : Rue
Universe : City of Candles
Prompts : Chocolate Chip 19 (Frantic), Starfruit 22 (I don't know the meaning of the word),
Type : Fill in the blanks, Prologue
Character(s) : Cecille
Notes : Another beginning! This one was set in a Victorian-ish setting. It was actually somewhat of a post with a friend of mine.
Waxed stamp; red as blood. The insignia of the Cranelake stamped upon it. Inside were two pieces of paper. The writing looked slightly messy on certain parts.
Dear Sister,
First of all, I shall have to beg forgiveness for the hasty writing.
I have no knowledge of what my husband's family had been telling you, if any, and I apologize for the lack of continuous telling of my condition for recent times.
But the cause of this lack of correspondence has ceased; and I shall regretfully inform you that my husband has succumbed to his illness, at the point of this writing. I sincerely hope this letter and the news it contained won't cause you unnecessary grief and problems for the family. I trust you to know what to do.
I hope Brother and Sommer are healthy and well. Send my belated regards to Mother, and your family. I fear I cannot wish them well with good conscience now.
C.
The other paper seemed to be a letter on its own, the writing on it much more shaken, hasty.
Sister,
I know the affection we have may not warrant what are you about to read, As how, in minutes, I shall call the servants with appropriate emotions, I hope you can deal with this letter accordingly, for what it may contain. Any responses would be a comfort. Even a thunderous storm is better than nothingness.
I am writing this on the table where my husband-- my -late- husband, used to write. In my eyesight was my late husband, or a body that used to be -him-, his soul taken; no warmth left. I can still feel his warmth on my hand, Sister. So faint, but they linger.
But something feels incomplete.I feel grief for my husband's family. I feel grief for the workers. I feel grief for my husband's acquaintances and partners. I feel grief for the projects he have, and the hole his death will create. But something feels incomplete, Sister. And I dared not say it.
There are papers on his table now. There always are. Drawings; plans; a series of numbers that might as well be glyph and runes for me. But for him it was everything; it was a story in itself.
What do numbers mean, Sister?
You, you have taken a path where other women falter; you have braved the storm which have claimed lesser women, men-- humans. We are different, sister; but you have a betrothed; someone you took an oath to spend their lifetime with, like me. In this, we are similar. Pray tell, Sister. Have you ever felt affection? Grief, for your husband?
I have no delusions about the sanctity or the strength of an affection, but this turmoil in my heart sought release, and I cannot think of anyone else other than you and Brother.
With love, and a trembling hand,
Cecille.
Universe : City of Candles
Prompts : Chocolate Chip 19 (Frantic), Starfruit 22 (I don't know the meaning of the word),
Type : Fill in the blanks, Prologue
Character(s) : Cecille
Notes : Another beginning! This one was set in a Victorian-ish setting. It was actually somewhat of a post with a friend of mine.
Waxed stamp; red as blood. The insignia of the Cranelake stamped upon it. Inside were two pieces of paper. The writing looked slightly messy on certain parts.
Dear Sister,
First of all, I shall have to beg forgiveness for the hasty writing.
I have no knowledge of what my husband's family had been telling you, if any, and I apologize for the lack of continuous telling of my condition for recent times.
But the cause of this lack of correspondence has ceased; and I shall regretfully inform you that my husband has succumbed to his illness, at the point of this writing. I sincerely hope this letter and the news it contained won't cause you unnecessary grief and problems for the family. I trust you to know what to do.
I hope Brother and Sommer are healthy and well. Send my belated regards to Mother, and your family. I fear I cannot wish them well with good conscience now.
C.
The other paper seemed to be a letter on its own, the writing on it much more shaken, hasty.
Sister,
I know the affection we have may not warrant what are you about to read, As how, in minutes, I shall call the servants with appropriate emotions, I hope you can deal with this letter accordingly, for what it may contain. Any responses would be a comfort. Even a thunderous storm is better than nothingness.
I am writing this on the table where my husband-- my -late- husband, used to write. In my eyesight was my late husband, or a body that used to be -him-, his soul taken; no warmth left. I can still feel his warmth on my hand, Sister. So faint, but they linger.
But something feels incomplete.I feel grief for my husband's family. I feel grief for the workers. I feel grief for my husband's acquaintances and partners. I feel grief for the projects he have, and the hole his death will create. But something feels incomplete, Sister. And I dared not say it.
There are papers on his table now. There always are. Drawings; plans; a series of numbers that might as well be glyph and runes for me. But for him it was everything; it was a story in itself.
What do numbers mean, Sister?
You, you have taken a path where other women falter; you have braved the storm which have claimed lesser women, men-- humans. We are different, sister; but you have a betrothed; someone you took an oath to spend their lifetime with, like me. In this, we are similar. Pray tell, Sister. Have you ever felt affection? Grief, for your husband?
I have no delusions about the sanctity or the strength of an affection, but this turmoil in my heart sought release, and I cannot think of anyone else other than you and Brother.
With love, and a trembling hand,
Cecille.