Rose Thorns & Love Letters

1 ➪ Love, Alexander

•Camilla•

3/6/1867
My Darling Sofia,
What pleasure have I gifted the world in return for the comfort and warmth of your love? Your sweet embrace sends a rush through my entire being. A rush one cannot fathom nor begin to explain. I am all yours dearest. All yours.
Love, Alexander.
_____________

My heart flutters at the sight of the words spread across the page I hold in my hand. To love someone as deeply as Alexander loved Sofia is something I believed could only take place in books.

The way Mr Darcy loved Elizabeth Bennet. A love so strong that no one else matters enough to destroy it. No matter how many trials and tribulations they are faced with, they will always love one another.

I always believed love to be the maker and destroyer of all good things.

A good thing about love is that it allows one to forget about everything around them and concentrate on nothing but the pure bliss their partner has given them.

A bad thing about love is that it allows one to forget about everything around them and concentrate on nothing but the pure bliss their partner has given them.

Although those two facts may seem the same, they are completely different; that alone is the most dangerous and terrifying thing I bear in my heart.

I gently fold the piece of paper that appears to be withering away. The edges are eroding and the paper has a yellow tint to it, yet the written words are unharmed and still carry the same importance.

I place the letter in my circular box. It is teal and has a large bow on the lid. I made it by myself back when I was 15. It was inspired by Lara Jean's love letter box. I still hold great pride with the outcome.

As I set down the lid over the box I am quickly distracted by the sound of an angry man in all likelihood ordering one of his 'men' to do a 'job' correctly.

My Father and I have never had the strongest relationship. In my younger years, my Father and I would talk. Talk about the weather, talk about dinner, talk about what it means to be his daughter.

But we would never really talk. Talk about favourite colours, talk about favourite food, talk about ourselves.

My Parent's marriage crumbled right before I was able to pick up the pieces and I partially blame myself for it.

Had I had known-

"Camilla!" My Father bellows and I slightly flinch at the sudden sound of rage filling the walls of this... castle.

I hurry down the stairs. Four flights of stairs. By the time I have reached the floor my Father is on, he is already pacing and I swear I can see steam escaping both of his ears.

"Yes father?" I answer sweetly. I cannot allow my Father know that his presence alone terrifies me more than the idea of never being loved.

He and My mother are to blame for my lack of belief in true love. If the only example of real love in my life failed, who is to say the millions of other loves wont?

"Sit." He exaggerates the 't' sound and I watch a sliver of saliva fly out of his mouth as a result of the force in which he spoke the word.