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Dust
- Joined
- Aug 27, 2009
Alva was at her wit's end.
She had been in correspondence with a long-lost friend for some time now, haltingly at first and then with more consistency, and now it was her time to respond to a letter-- a letter that all but begged her to join her friend at her large estate.
At first, she had thought it a contrivance of sorts, to bring her in to the estate of their once-shared beau and rub her nose deeply in the success and happiness that her marriage to their Bear had brought her. But upon re-reading the letters, pouring over them by lamplight, she detected a note of what she believed to be desperation. The fluidity of her former friend's handwriting wrung a little ache out of her, situated just below her breastbone. She worried over the letter; worried her lower lip with her teeth as was an old, accustomed habit of hers; and worried over just how to respond.
Alva, who was just as fair as the day she and her friend had parted ways, had matured into a young woman over the years, ripening in the usual ways. She was not especially busty (though her corseted and cinched appearance might give evidence to the contrary), not especially well-endowed in any way except in that of the domestic arts. And, for that, she would be eternally grateful.
Her father, God rest him-- fool that he was, had inadvertently cursed his own sons just before his own death that could, in part, be blamed on his progeny's negligence. But how could they have known then what they knew now? They were only children back then... But thanks to a strange stroke of luck that could only be attributed to the foresight of an elusive fairy godmother, all the practice she'd had to make her an excellent wife had paid off: there was a chance of breaking the curse that afflicted her beloved brothers.
Of course, that excluded her from actually finding a man to put these skills to work but since she still wore black in mourning for her father, this was of little consequence to her.
She sat down to write her letter and when she did so, she first bit her lip, then wet the nib of her pen and set to work on the paper.
My Dearest Friend,
The letter began in earnest and she shifted in her seat to avoid imprinting any of the lace pattern of her petticoats on her pale, concealed thighs.
Nothing would please me more than to see you. But in all of our correspondence, I have neglected to tell you of a certain affliction that has befallen me.
She then began to explain -with some hesitance- the curse of her brothers and she bit down harder on her lip, nearly drawing blood in her nervousness. She had not changed much, despite her maturing, despite the burden she bore. The black she wore made her skin look all the more pale, blemished only with a few, sparse freckles residual from her childhood. Her features were attractive, though soft, and there was still a bit too much youthful roundness and color to her cheeks. Her eyes bore her true age and determination. As dark as they ever had been, they were nearly a match to the black of her hair and glinted with a clever light despite their doe-like appearance.
Although my brothers suffer as swans, vested in me is the ability to free them. In exchange for the barest of chances to see them in human form again, I was forced to give up the privilege of speech. I assume that the ability has not been stripped from me but the truth is that in the years following my father's death, I have become completely mute.
She paused there on the page, the pen hovering in her still hand. Was that sufficient? There was more, much more, but she feared that even her dearest of friends might dismiss her as others had: the tales of old had occurred, of course, but such magic never manifested itself any longer. She could offer no proof, save for the few shirts she had completed making out of starwort for her brothers' ultimate transfiguration back to humans... but time was running out, she had little more than a few years left and the word was arduous.
Returning to her letter she released her lower lip, leaving it slightly swollen where she'd been biting it:
I have been quite alone in my attempts to see my brothers again and, I think, a change of scenery would suit me well. I will have my own estate closed for the time being and my sparse belongings hied directly to your home. You may expect my arrival soon after this letter finds its way to you. May it find you safe and in good health.
Your constant friend,
Alva
With that, she blotted the letter of excess ink, folded, sealed it with her signet, and brought it downstairs to be taken directly to her estate.
As for Alva, she had to pack up her entire world in order to begin her journey. A journey she was most anxious to begin.
She had been in correspondence with a long-lost friend for some time now, haltingly at first and then with more consistency, and now it was her time to respond to a letter-- a letter that all but begged her to join her friend at her large estate.
At first, she had thought it a contrivance of sorts, to bring her in to the estate of their once-shared beau and rub her nose deeply in the success and happiness that her marriage to their Bear had brought her. But upon re-reading the letters, pouring over them by lamplight, she detected a note of what she believed to be desperation. The fluidity of her former friend's handwriting wrung a little ache out of her, situated just below her breastbone. She worried over the letter; worried her lower lip with her teeth as was an old, accustomed habit of hers; and worried over just how to respond.
Alva, who was just as fair as the day she and her friend had parted ways, had matured into a young woman over the years, ripening in the usual ways. She was not especially busty (though her corseted and cinched appearance might give evidence to the contrary), not especially well-endowed in any way except in that of the domestic arts. And, for that, she would be eternally grateful.
Her father, God rest him-- fool that he was, had inadvertently cursed his own sons just before his own death that could, in part, be blamed on his progeny's negligence. But how could they have known then what they knew now? They were only children back then... But thanks to a strange stroke of luck that could only be attributed to the foresight of an elusive fairy godmother, all the practice she'd had to make her an excellent wife had paid off: there was a chance of breaking the curse that afflicted her beloved brothers.
Of course, that excluded her from actually finding a man to put these skills to work but since she still wore black in mourning for her father, this was of little consequence to her.
She sat down to write her letter and when she did so, she first bit her lip, then wet the nib of her pen and set to work on the paper.
My Dearest Friend,
The letter began in earnest and she shifted in her seat to avoid imprinting any of the lace pattern of her petticoats on her pale, concealed thighs.
Nothing would please me more than to see you. But in all of our correspondence, I have neglected to tell you of a certain affliction that has befallen me.
She then began to explain -with some hesitance- the curse of her brothers and she bit down harder on her lip, nearly drawing blood in her nervousness. She had not changed much, despite her maturing, despite the burden she bore. The black she wore made her skin look all the more pale, blemished only with a few, sparse freckles residual from her childhood. Her features were attractive, though soft, and there was still a bit too much youthful roundness and color to her cheeks. Her eyes bore her true age and determination. As dark as they ever had been, they were nearly a match to the black of her hair and glinted with a clever light despite their doe-like appearance.
Although my brothers suffer as swans, vested in me is the ability to free them. In exchange for the barest of chances to see them in human form again, I was forced to give up the privilege of speech. I assume that the ability has not been stripped from me but the truth is that in the years following my father's death, I have become completely mute.
She paused there on the page, the pen hovering in her still hand. Was that sufficient? There was more, much more, but she feared that even her dearest of friends might dismiss her as others had: the tales of old had occurred, of course, but such magic never manifested itself any longer. She could offer no proof, save for the few shirts she had completed making out of starwort for her brothers' ultimate transfiguration back to humans... but time was running out, she had little more than a few years left and the word was arduous.
Returning to her letter she released her lower lip, leaving it slightly swollen where she'd been biting it:
I have been quite alone in my attempts to see my brothers again and, I think, a change of scenery would suit me well. I will have my own estate closed for the time being and my sparse belongings hied directly to your home. You may expect my arrival soon after this letter finds its way to you. May it find you safe and in good health.
Your constant friend,
Alva
With that, she blotted the letter of excess ink, folded, sealed it with her signet, and brought it downstairs to be taken directly to her estate.
As for Alva, she had to pack up her entire world in order to begin her journey. A journey she was most anxious to begin.