Page 1 of Love & Letter Charms
Prologue
One Year Ago
The carvedwooden box sat innocently among the clutter of Vesper’s Curiosities & Oddities, yet something about it commanded Aurelise Rowanwood’s attention like a whisper in a crowded room. She’d come seeking a birthday gift for a friend but found instead what might be either folly or fate—an enchantment promising written exchanges with an unknown recipient.
The wood was dark and smooth, engraved with delicate roses whose thorny stems twisted around the edges in an intricate border, and when Aurelise opened the box, she found an elegant inscription on the inside of the lid:To the seeker of correspondence: Place your reply within and receive an answer that may change your path.
Intrigued, Aurelise asked her older brother Evryn if he would purchase the box for her. He frowned at first, his protective instincts clearly warring with his inability to deny her anything. She waited patiently while he questioned the shop owner, hisbrow furrowed with concern about his seventeen-year-old sister potentially corresponding with some unknown and possibly questionable individual. The shopkeeper, however, had assured them that the enchantment was entirely self-contained, crafted by a retired enchanter who specialized in harmless novelties. Nothing more threatening than a clever parlor trick.
And so Evryn purchased the box for her. Yet once home, Aurelise found herself staring at it as it sat upon her vanity, suddenly struck by the absurdity of writing letters to no one. What was the point of committing her thoughts to parchment when only an enchantment would read them? The novelty seemed to fade before she’d even begun, and so the box remained untouched, its promise unfulfilled.
Then came Evryn’s wedding to Lady Mariselle Brightcrest in all its glorious, scandalous tumult—a love that conquered ancient grudges and swept the family through weeks of joyful preparation before depositing them, tired but triumphant, into the blissful quiet that follows a perfectly executed celebration.
Aurelise and Kazrian’s eighteenth birthday passed, the Bloom Season drew to a close, and the Rowanwoods prepared to return to their country estate. And then, in a single evening, everything changed.
It happened at a quiet family gathering during their last week in Bloomhaven. A sudden, overwhelming rush of magic surged through Aurelise’s veins, far more potent than any ordinary magic she’d ever experienced. The music that had always lived privately in her mind and beneath her fingertips at the pianoforte suddenly filled the room, audible to everyone present, while delicate threads of iridescent light looped through the air around her, swirling in time with the melody that poured unbidden from her very being.
For several startled moments, all anyone could do was stare at her. Then: “My dearest, you have manifested!” her motherexclaimed, delighted tears in her eyes as everyone gathered around in wonder and celebration.
But for days afterward, Aurelise felt as though she was drowning. The music that had once been her sanctuary, her private refuge from overwhelming emotion, was now the very thing that threatened to suffocate her. Worse still, it betrayed her every feeling to the world. A moment of frustration might summon the sound of discordant strings, a flicker of joy could produce unbidden harp cascades, announcing her emotions to anyone nearby. Her refuge had become her betrayer.
Evryn must have noticed her distress—or perhaps Kazrian, in whom she eventually confided everything, had told Evryn—because he’d suggested she might find relief in writing down her feelings, in giving them shape outside of herself where they might seem less overwhelming.
That night, sitting at her small writing desk with a blank sheet of paper before her, Aurelise’s gaze fell upon the forgotten wooden box, its promise suddenly beckoning like a confidant who would never judge. And so, after several false starts and crumpled attempts, she finally penned:
Dear Imaginary Recipient,
I confess I am uncertain how to begin a letter to what may simply be an enchanted repository of spelled paper and ink designed to make the lonely feel heard. Though I must admit, there is profound relief in knowing no real person will ever read these words, allowing me the rare luxury of complete honesty.
Today marks three days since my magic manifested, and I find myself quite overwhelmed by it all. Everyone speaks of the joy of finally coming into one’s power, but no one mentions how frightening it can be when magic suddenly flows through youlike a river breaking its banks. No one speaks of the paralyzing fear that comes with being unable to control one’s newly manifested power, or the guilt that haunts every moment of celebration when siblings still await their own manifestations.
My family expects me to be utterly delighted by this development, and perhaps most young ladies would be, but I find the whole business rather terrifying. I wonder … do enchantments understand fear? Or joy? Or the peculiar loneliness of being surrounded by people who expect you to be delighted when inside you feel rather like you might shatter?
The thing I once treasured above all else—my one true solace when the world grew too loud, the thing that gave me the space to breathe when I felt as though the world may smother me—has transformed into the very thing that now overwhelms me. It has broken my heart in ways I never thought possible.
Well, this is silly. I’ve written far too much to a box that I have been assured holds nothing but a clever enchantment. And yet … I can’t help but wonder what response I will receive to these thoughts I am too afraid to voice aloud.
With uncertain regards,
A Tentative Correspondent
She closed the lid with a soft click, then immediately opened it again. Her letter was gone. Her heart performed an odd little skip. Even knowing it was only the enchantment at work, the disappearance felt thrilling somehow, as though her words had been whisked away to some mysterious recipient who might actually understand the storm of emotions she kept carefully contained behind her quiet demeanor. She checked again a few minutes later, and then again after an hour, but the box remained empty.
She looked once more before retiring for the night, lifting the lid with waning hope, only to find it still empty. Disappointment settled in her chest like a cold stone. How foolish she was being. It wasn’t as though a real person was ever going to reply to her outpouring of feelings. The enchantment must be faulty, or perhaps it had languished too long in Vesper’s dusty shop and simply expired.
But the next morning, when she lifted the lid without any real hope, there it was—a letter, the handwriting bold and slightly slanted, nothing like her own careful script. Her heart leaped into her throat, and a flush of warmth spread across her cheeks. With trembling fingers, she unfolded the letter.
Dear Tentative Correspondent,
I must inform you that I am disappointingly real, which means that whoever assured you your box holds nothing but a clever enchantment was either lying or had no idea what they were selling.
Congratulations on your manifestation! Though I notice you’ve cleverly avoided mentioning what form it takes. Very mysterious. I approve. I do hope it has not truly broken your heart, though. Perhaps with time you might rediscover what made this gift so treasured in the first place.
As for your question about understanding fear—I’m afraid I understand it rather too well. Just last week, I was presented with a dish of boiled parsnips and felt the same chill I did as a boy when first confronted with those pale carrot impersonators.
But you also asked about the loneliness of expectations, and there I must confess you’ve struck upon something I know intimately. Everyone assumes manifestation means finally knowing exactly who you are meant to be. No one mentionsthat sometimes it feels more like being handed a responsibility you never asked for while everyone watches to see if you will drop it. Though it has been several years since I manifested, that weight of expectation has only grown heavier with time, not lighter as everyone promised it would.
I hope you do not shatter. I hope you find the space to breathe again. The world needs more people brave enough to write honest letters to potentially imaginary correspondents.
