(Yes, I still suck at art, so this is not mine and I have no ownership of it whatsoever).
Books.
Books and books and books.
She breathed them in one by one, analyzing their content.
Books.
She grinned uncontrollably as she caressed the first cover. It was a deep crocodile green, a color that preened over itself in the soft glow of morning. Its attached bookmark (how she adored those kinds!), a tail of sorts, majestically flapped its banner of identical hue. An ornate illustration curled around the edges like claws and teeth, sharp and pointedly beautiful. The name failed to disturb its aged perfection; exquisite cursive printing dubbed it as Anna Karenina. Immediately she wished for the name to be hers, but, most of all, to wrestle the book's secrets and find its wonders, to stare into its mouth and gape at its glistening white teeth as numerous as the stars.
She had to read this one first. She must--
But then--
She lowered it softly onto the floor and eagerly lifted the next one into her arms. Its glossy cover shone with the promise of blissful newness she so rarely witnessed in her prison. A collage of words made an artistic depiction of a hand, reaching for the title, An Uncertain Skyline. She turned it over, hungrily reading the raving reviews of critics. She loved critics; they were people like her, who loved books, out there in the world writing messages just for her on the back of each page-turner. It was a dream come true, a fantasy in the flesh. The fresh smell of new paper enticed her weary senses to flip the pages. Catherine hugged it to her chest protectively.
This one, for certain. She would start with--
Oh, but the next one--!
And the next!
And the next!
Catherine fawned over each prized new possession like they were her own children. She had not opened any letters that morning; she had been too mesmerized by the lumpy package on her front step. She had no idea who would've sent them --she had little family and less friends-- but either way, they no longer owned the precious books. She giddily ran for her emergency pencil, frowning at the shrinking amount of writing utensils, and hurriedly scrawled her name inside each one, ceremoniously passing ownership to Catherine Lamott of Lamott Residence.
There had been another package, actually, an even lumpier one, so lumpy it was almost reminiscent of Frankenstein. A calligraphy-worthy hand had nearly written: To be delivered to Lillian, on the 22nd of April. Hardly a specific address, but she wasn't bothered by the specifics. In it she found a peculiar collection of items, and a note:
Selena (on the front for once! Yay!) here,
We couldn't fit this in a box, so sorry, I guess...but it's a kit (somewhat). In this package you will find (with poetic-meaning credit to Elaine):
- One magnifying glass, to see the truth, no matter how distorted
- Two shoes, designed to help you hit the ground running
- One paper crane, so you can teach it to fly
- Three pieces of sour candy, to appreciate the bitterness in your life
Whatever this means, it's beyond me.
But we trust you to reach the horizon unknown.
-- Selena and Elaine
She had seen no point in flipping the package over for 'Side B.'
✎ ✐ ✎ ✐ ✎ ✐
Horizon unknown.

YOU ARE READING
Double-Sided Letters
Mystery / ThrillerA town blooming out of nowhere. A dysfunctional wall looming over its citizens. A box full of envelopes addressed to a girl with no past. And so Catherine receives some letters with a peculiar quirk: One person writes on the front, The other writes...