My Dearest Lady Cotton

Unpleasant Matters

If there was one thing Cotton despised about her Husband the most, it would be how evasive he can be. The man had the tendency to just pat his dear Wife on the head and say 'It's nothing for you to worry about' and carry on his day.

Why? Well, the man obviously wished for his love to be worry free and without concerns.

But him just escaping every question Cotton inquires about his work stirs her into a boiling aggravated storm, that eventually, ignites ridiculous squabbles between them.

Shutting the bedroom door with her shoulder, the lavender haired woman gingerly dropped a pile of crisp dry laundry upon the bed, when she discovered yet another one of his letters.

But this time, it was located in a rather simple place. Instead of sitting behind loose bricks or inside a vase of barley flour, this one was neatly nestled upon a stack of old papers.

Of course she had to read it, it must have been one of those cheesy letters he sends her everyday!

But instead of his usual sweet words, it was..not so sweet. Quite bitter actually.

Alright Cotton, that's enough. Her conscience warned, pushing her head away from the official missive her Husband had written. Just keep reading. You need to find out what happened to those captured twelve! A devilishly worried voice whispered into her ears, coating them in sweet honey.

Shaking her head, the young wife slammed the paper elsewhere and began to clean around the apartment, trying to distract her mind on...other things.

Yes, other things... like that letter. Said the same awful voice, infuriatingly slinking into her skull.

Absolutely not. Cotton, do not dare follow those terrible deeds! Countered her angelic side, hissing and scratching at the evil pit in her brain, thus, locking poor Cotton as the monkey in the middle.

"That's enough!" She growled, her patience snapping in two as she slapped a wet rag upon the floor. "I will not read into it further!" Shes shouts, rushing up the uneven stairs and past the cloudy windows, desperate to escape the dark evening light pooling into the kitchen.

Entering their shared room, the young Wife scurried around the cursed desk, burying into the bed and fresh laundry, trying to ignore the letter coldly staring back at her laying form.

She shuddered, remembering how her hands refused to cease trembling, or her curious eyes, failing to resist traveling further down the missive, unable to move away from the report.

The words, the tones, they were all too grave. All too black. Black as the ink that engraved the parchment.

Licking her dry lips, the lavender haired woman pensively peeped over the layers of clothes, unable to keep her horror stricken eyes away from...whatever her Husband's task that day was.

"Cotton, what are you doing?"

Screaming from the sudden intrusion, aprons and tunics exploded from the laundry and adjacent to the floor as Cotton flung herself under the blankets, away from the puzzled laugh behind her.

Raising a curious brow, dark-aqua hues shifted towards the young woman in wonderment at her sudden fear. Gently and swiftly, Louis made his way towards his cowering Wife, worriedly placing his gloved hand upon her covered head. "My dear, are you alright? What ails you?"

Oh stars, it was just Louis. Why was he here so early?

Feeling her jittery nerves relax under his smooth voice, Cotton tentatively lifted the quilt. The shaken lass couldn't mouth a single word. All those terrible things written, all those poor Brewers-- it all just continued to haunt her mind, never letting go.