solomon's lament | completed | final product under editing

| one | inner insecurities

Really, no one wants to find any letters or notes in your jacket while sweeping up stale and over-buttered popcorn. For most, it's just a chain letter or even a cute love letter from that super nice, unable to take your eyes off of cute-type, girl in your class. That's nice. Pretty normal, actually, even as weird as it first would seem, but that wasn't what this was. No it wasn't what this was at all, as much as you would soon wish it was.

This was different.

This was intriguing.

This was a chance.

And it couldn't have possibly sparked something so terrible, so devastating, and yet, so hopelessly hopeful at the exact same time. It just couldn't do something like that.... could it?

---

It's during Margot's break of cleaning the floors, the floors that always seemed to be buried six feet under remnants of concession foods unless Margot stayed late to clean it, of the Hathaway cinema she discovers the letter in her pink jacket. The envelope, which she had inspected like a detective would inspect clues and evidence at a crime scene, was a creamy white and marked with a red wax seal of an intricate symbol that's vaguely familiar. Where had she seen it before? Margot couldn't remember, but she wasn't able to dwell too long on it as she became aware of someone hovering over her shoulder

One of her best friends, Connor, is there, inspecting the note beside her, jokingly rubbing his chin and staring long and hard into the symbol in the center, as if the answer to where they'd seen it would magically appear. Finally, his back straightens as he concludes, "It's a bomb." Margot, trusting her first instincts upon hearing those three words, immediately drops it a few feet away, though it lands in a tangled fusion of green slushie and pink cotton candy, making the color of what looked like someone emptied the contents of their stomach. Assuming their stomach had been turned into a slushie. Connor grimaces as he reluctanly crouches down to lift it by a safe corner, dangling it between two fingers, his thumb and pointer finger.

"Okay, that was a bit unnecessary," he states, but only gains Margot prodding at, and maybe even bruising, his side with the handle of the broom in her hand a bit jokingly.

"What, you expect me to not be a little wary?" She shook her head, trying not to grin but failing, as the tips of her mouth twitched upwards ever so slightly. His shoulders lift up to just barely touch his ears as he replies with a neutral and indifferent hum.

"You gonna read it?" Connor extends the note to Margot, whose mouth forms a twisted line, like a snake's body as it stalks it's prey.

"Could be a prank from one of the high schoolers at... Brooklyn," she suggests, her deep but bright sunset eyes gazing at the wax seal with such intensity to the point the imprint had burned into her vision. It kind of looked important. Maybe it was. There was only one way to know and luckily, Connor decided to choose that option for her.

"Your loss." Connor fishes out a black ballpoint pen from his pocket, proceeding to dig it underneath the creases of the envelope and breaking through the stamp, the pieces scattering on the tiled floor. Margot quickly sweeps it up just as Connor unfolds the letter.

It's an invitation, in the form of a pale purple flyer and intricate gold lace lining the outer edge of the paper and lacy cursive handwriting. It's actually really pretty to look at, save for the fact the flyer addresses her by her real name which she groans at.

Connor's brows nearly rise to meet his hairline as his eyes quickly skim the words skillfully written in a flawless calligraphy. "Dude. Dude," his hand finds its way to Margot's shoulder and proceeds to wildly shake her, "it's the thing. Autumn Umbrae thing. That thing."