Post by Mirielle Bellamont on Aug 10, 2007 10:30:52 GMT -5
I'd waited, I'd thought, I'd taken the time I needed to sort myself out, and all in the few moments it took to have half a glass of brandy at the Generous Patron I knew what I wanted, knew my love, how the pain in me stemmed mostly from missing him, the inability to be with him.
I could no longer smell him on my pillow, no longer woke thinking he was next to me, and my pillowcase was slowly beginning to drown in the weight of my tears.
Sitting behind my great desk, I pushed my paperwork back and took out a single piece of thin parchment and my quill, and began penning him a letter.
I sighed as I finished it, emotions swirling through me. Tears had formed as I wrote it, formed and hastily wiped away, though one had escaped and nearly blotted out my name as I returned the quill to its holder. I bit my lip and used a part of my sleeve to edge into the wetness and soak it up before sanding the paper. The thin parchment was slightly wrinkled where the tear had soaked in, but I feared if I rewrote it I'd only cry more and face having a second version that was worse than the first.
As the sand soaked, I leaned and opened a bottom drawer of my desk and retrieved the commissioned object that I'd picked up after my trip to Balm with Cascata. Unwrapping it carefully, I held it in my hands and looked at it, studying it thoroughly to make sure no pieces had chipped off.
It was glorious, a craft done by a master hand, and I couldn't help but smile every time I looked at it. No longer than the length of my own hand, it were a small statue that depicted a fox and an angel, thier eyes inset with gems. The angle held blue eyes, pale and deep, the fox glittering black ones, though set in a way that showed kindness and not slyness. The angel was above the fox as the fox sat at its leisure, staring out and attentive, and the angel had its wings wrapped down about the slender fox's body. Gillermo and I, my present of dedication and a testament to my words, he portrayed like the intelligent, suave character I knew he was.
Rewrapping it, I stored it back into an intricate chest, placing the letter atop of it, and carried it out of my study. The same teenage boy who took Cascatas letter for me bore this one also, though rather than on a horse he took my carriage. I stood outside my door and watched him until he was well gone from my sight, my chest held tight in wonder.
I could no longer smell him on my pillow, no longer woke thinking he was next to me, and my pillowcase was slowly beginning to drown in the weight of my tears.
Sitting behind my great desk, I pushed my paperwork back and took out a single piece of thin parchment and my quill, and began penning him a letter.
I sighed as I finished it, emotions swirling through me. Tears had formed as I wrote it, formed and hastily wiped away, though one had escaped and nearly blotted out my name as I returned the quill to its holder. I bit my lip and used a part of my sleeve to edge into the wetness and soak it up before sanding the paper. The thin parchment was slightly wrinkled where the tear had soaked in, but I feared if I rewrote it I'd only cry more and face having a second version that was worse than the first.
As the sand soaked, I leaned and opened a bottom drawer of my desk and retrieved the commissioned object that I'd picked up after my trip to Balm with Cascata. Unwrapping it carefully, I held it in my hands and looked at it, studying it thoroughly to make sure no pieces had chipped off.
It was glorious, a craft done by a master hand, and I couldn't help but smile every time I looked at it. No longer than the length of my own hand, it were a small statue that depicted a fox and an angel, thier eyes inset with gems. The angle held blue eyes, pale and deep, the fox glittering black ones, though set in a way that showed kindness and not slyness. The angel was above the fox as the fox sat at its leisure, staring out and attentive, and the angel had its wings wrapped down about the slender fox's body. Gillermo and I, my present of dedication and a testament to my words, he portrayed like the intelligent, suave character I knew he was.
Rewrapping it, I stored it back into an intricate chest, placing the letter atop of it, and carried it out of my study. The same teenage boy who took Cascatas letter for me bore this one also, though rather than on a horse he took my carriage. I stood outside my door and watched him until he was well gone from my sight, my chest held tight in wonder.