T
here is a break in the rain when the letter arrives, the dove flying in with a streak of sunlight to illuminate its wings. It feels like a promise, the way the clouds hold back their tears long enough for him to unbinds the letter. He is surprised by the gentleness of the morning, of the sunlight, of the way the new spring growth looks like peal silks draped by a loving hand over the capitol. Few things are so gentle anymore.
He reads the letter with a soft smile (that is perhaps equal parts sad as it is joyful. It has been so long since he last had a bird upon his window sill to feed, and he fetches it a handful of seeds as thanks.) And when he reaches the end it takes him a moment to double check that there is no hidden warning, or tragedy, or violence between the handwritten lines.
He knows he should be glad he does not find any. He is glad — he will be glad — he is determined to be glad when he finds the dove a place to rest and settles down to write his response. The small statue of a stellar's jay, wings still outstretched in flight, watches over his words.
His letter flows like petals caught on a wayward wind carrying a dozen promises, and wishes, and dreams back to Elena.
My dear friend,
There is a story I was told once about gifting autumn leaves. They say it is a sign of letting go, of being willing to go to places the wind would like to show you. To give someone an autumn leaf is to say you have found peace in whatever it is that plagues you.
I hope your patient has found their peace. It too often is in short supply.
Delumine is not so quiet as it once was. It settles a part of my heart to see children playing in the gardens again, and our scholars walking freely between the trees on their way to and from the garden. I believe we are finding a new sense of normalcy, a new peace of our own. We held vigil with the Night Court for a spring bonfire festival, and it has given me a new hope for the future.
Sometimes I think it is only a dream, and that I will soon wake up to a new terror. I know it is wrong to think this way, but with the things I have seen — each night the same fears return.
My daughters have told me about Elliana. I think they like her — but it is hard to tell which things they like or dislike. I think sometimes they speak a language only the two of them understand. Perhaps one day we can arrange a get together for the three of them.
Attached are some seeds of passionflower and lavender (assuming the owl does not eat them.) Both of them will bloom in summer, and their petals when steeped together may help with your daughter’s sleep. They also are lovely flowers to grow.
In return I ask only for a happy story.
Signed,
Ipomoea
ofthe Dawn CourtOOC | @Elena
art by rhiann
