O my little Geckos! Something Dreadful has happened. Previously I told you how I feared the Beastmaster’s rage; I trembled in my Chamber, lest he be Guided by his Anger and Harm me.
Yet for many Hours that night, all was Silent, and eventually, my Trembling ceased. I began to Believe that I had given in to Womanly Fears of the most Cowardly sort. Determining at last to Sleep soundly for what Remained of the Night, I Ventured forth to fetch a mug of Warm Milk from the Kitchen.
O Foolishness!
I should not have Relaxed my Guard! For though I was not Frightened by the Dim hall and the Flickering Shadows cast by my Candle, nor by the Unsettling creaking sounds I heard, I was, indeed, Set Upon! As I stood at the top of the sweeping Staircase, I felt two firm Hands at the small of my Back! They Shoved! I Toppled, Screaming! I did not stop Screaming I lay crumpled and senseless at the foot of the Stairs. A Scullery Maid found me in the Morning (though why she was not in the Scullery, I cannot imagine) and summoned help.
I write this from the Infirmary, where the Directorate’s fine Medical Staff is tending my Wounds. O how my Head Aches! O how the Cast on my Leg itches! O how I long to be Free from my Confinement so I can track down the Wretch who pushed me!
Your Exercise:
Have one of your Characters write me a Note of Consolation and Well-Wishes! Eschew the saccharine Sentiments of Hallmark, and let your Character’s voice Ring Out.
Ah. The Doctor approaches with a Sedative. I shall read your Replies tomorrow. Be well, my little Ducklings! Be Careful on the Stairs!
Says the Gardener’s Daughter, from her Grave:
I wish you an understanding of root systems and soil. I wish you clarity; the clarity of rain, of nourishment, of photosynthesis. I wish you a brightness to love and cleave to, who will be your solace when you are sick, your support, your strength. I wish you what I wished for myself every day of my waking life.
I wish you wellness and warm skies. I wish you sprouting seeds.
O! Dearest Agent Labrys! That is Marvelous, and I feel my Bones hastening to Knit together.
(re-pasted here from LJ)
Dear Thing,
In these perilous days at world’s twilight, it behooves us to prepare for any eventuality, namely and especially the one from which there is no escape: the final exit: death.
On that note, may I inquire after your post-mortem M.O.? It has become fashionable, I’ve heard it said, in certain circles, to have one’s corpus burned on a pyre. I am here to tell you (even to beseech you if it comes to that; I hope not — the indignity!) that this will not do.
Some of us, even if we are not human, still require sustenance. The marrow of your so charming self will be to us as the yellow riches of the Rhinegold. So, if you should not recover from this terrible malady that has stricken you, be a dear and donate your bones!
Sincerely,
The Flabberghast
[...] you for your Kind Wishes and Get Well Cards; they have done much to Soothe me as I recover from my Horrifying attack. Today my Dear friend [...]