Beautiful silk drapery hangs above the room, and gold flowers etch the flooring's carpet. Someone must have stayed here because there is evidence of old hairbrushes and makeup on the vanity, and a poofy dress sports the mannequin in the top right corner. Looking at the dusty vanity, you come across a letter that doesn't exactly have a receiver. It comes from a Florence Mildred addressing her concern about Luke Atkinson.
February 12, 1855
Luke has been intolerable for months now, and it is honestly getting into my nerves. What do they have that I do not possess? Surely there is no maiden as gracious and beautiful as I who resides in both the south and the west. He has been inconsolable and distant; whenever I try to ask him what is wrong, he puts on a pretty smile and tells me that I must be imagining things. Well surely I must be imagining things if he's cooped up in his room all day; he won't even bat an eyelid at me for as long as I stay in Atkinson manor. He always seems to be looking for something, or someone. I pray that he hasn't forgotten our wedding. Mr. Heinz told me that he'll come to eventually, but today was the final hatchet. He asked me out of the blue if we could invite the entire household and their families. Why so sudden? Though I wouldn't say I despise dealing with the likes of their class, I do believe it unbecoming to invite commoners to a formal affair. And then after saying that, he's back in his room waiting wistfully by the window sill. The nerve of that incomprehensible- Out of spite, I've decided to hide his bedroom key during the night of our wedding. Let us see where he shall run off to this time if he doesn't find what he's looking for. God bless my poor soul.
Yours truly,
Florence MildredAlso, Ps. Don't forget to ask that maid Anne where she put my white powder. It has been missing for days now and I need it for my foundation.
You scan the room for a key but you couldn't find it anywhere.
YOU ARE READING
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