Princess Lorraine stared out the window.
Nobody will read it, per usual. And if they do, they will be a guard and report me to father.
...
BUT I WANT TO WRITE ANYWAYYYYSSSSSSS!
Her head swam. Arguing with father always left her with a headache. She wished she had taken him up on her offer and ate dinner. She had returned to bed with an empty stomach, and here she was, not allowed to go out to get a meal, and provided apple slices. Apple slices.
I do not even like apples.
At least she could enjoy the privacy of her room for once. The maids had business in the grand hall for whatever reason.
Bored, she grabbed a story from her bookshelf. The Prince in Gold. She detested romance. Should she journal? She did not want to write about her father, and aside from that, nothing else of note had happened recently.
Which left her with little to do except for her favorite thing.
Certain no one was around, Lorraine reached down into her drawer.
Her hand wavered over the paper and ink.
Nobody will read it...I will get in trouble...
And yet still she lingered over the objects. Mere seconds before she grasped them, she heard a knock.
"Enter." She quickly shut the drawer, smoothening her hair to avoid a maid walking in and berating her lack of grace.
She waited 30 seconds, and yet no one entered.
Who is messing with me now.
Ready to sit back down on the bed in boredom, she turned around, just as she heard a sliding noise. A crumpled piece of paper slipped through the bottom of the door.
Hate mail? From the maids?
She grabbed the paper, barely catching a glimpse of what seemed to be worker shoes underneath the door.
No way is that a maid. This is new.
She unraveled the paper, she eyes opening in shock.
This- this is my letter!
Confused, she read it over numerous times, wondering why she had been given it again, and by what seemed to not be a maid. Tossing it over, she examined the back, which had been scribbled over with a black pen.
Unique handwriting... She couldn't tell if it was a girl's or a guy's. She sat herself down onto her bed, and began to read.
That makes two of us. I suppose that means you are my first friend, and I am yours.
The world was treating me well, till a piece of paper hit me on the head. I wonder why that was...probably was some scoundrel with a knack for throwing things out windows. Who would do that?
"Not me" Lorraine stifled laughter.
Simply fantastic, the weather is. I hate summer, but for once there aren't as much bugs biting me wherever I go. I'll have to check to see if it's a blue moon shining in the sky tonight.
"Same here," Lorraine stared into the sky briefly.
Ah, I don't taste good. I think I taste like...milk. Since I deliver the stuff. Do you like milk? I hope not, I don't want to be eaten.
We've only been friends for less than a day, but you don't seem too bad to me. Admitting you have flaws just proves you have good inside you. A truly bad person would never admit that.
Lorraine put a hand to her face, smiling more than she thought she was capable of.
Yknow, I never once thought about that. I've always just used abrupt, but abruptivity sounds cooler. Is that patented or can I use that? It's decided, I'm using it.
I have milk to deliver, so I'll end this here. Please forgive my abruptivity, Ms. P. Or is it Mrs. P?
Or can I call you Lorraine?
Yours Truly,
Tarquin
Lorraine did not hesitate to whip out the ink and pen.
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YOU ARE READING
The Letter That Reached
RomanceLorraine is a slave in a pretty dress. Forced to abide by whatever her father says, her room becomes a prison, one which she desperately wishes to escape from. What keeps her from running, however, is her love of letter writing, even though she has...
