Page 3 of Love & Letter Charms
Dear Cautious Skeptic,
Your prudence is admirable, if frustrating to one attempting to prove his corporeal existence. But I must ask—how am I to convince you of my reality if I cannot send anything, cannot visit, cannot provide any tangible evidence of my existence?
Am I doomed to remain forever a figment of enchantment in your mind? The thought is oddly poetic, yet unsatisfying. There must be some way to bridge this gap between enchantment and reality without compromising your safety or reputation.
Perhaps you might suggest a method that would satisfy both your caution and my desire to be acknowledged as more than magical correspondence?
Awaiting inspiration,
The Increasingly Existential Correspondent
P.S. I look forward to receiving the letter in which you inform me that you’ve realized I am, in fact, correct about this matter of courage.
Aurelise gazed out of her window at the moonlit gardens of their Bloomhaven residence, absently brushing the feather of her self-inking quill back and forth across her chin as she contemplated how to respond. A smile touched her lips whenever she thought of his postscript about courage—his certainty was both presumptuous and oddly charming—but decided now was not the time to rise to that particular bait. The more pressing matter was determining whether this mystery gentleman truly existed.
An idea began to take shape in her mind, centered around her grandmother’s establishment. Lady Rivenna Rowanwood owned The Charmed Leaf Tea House, the beating heart of Bloomhaven society gossip. While Aurelise and her immediate family were scheduled to depart for their country estate in just two days’ time, returning to the sprawling manor where they spent most of the year when not attending the Season in Bloomhaven, her grandmother would remain, overseeing her business with her customary sharp eye and sharper tongue.
Would it truly be dishonest for Aurelise to say she was not in Bloomhaven right now? By the time her mysteriouscorrespondent could possibly act on her suggestion, it would be true. She weighed the small deception against the protection her anonymity provided, and decided that this careful obscuring of details was merely prudent caution, not truly a lie.
Dear Increasingly Existential Correspondent,
After much consideration, I believe I have a solution that might satisfy us both. Do you know of The Charmed Leaf Tea House in Bloomhaven? I am not in Bloomhaven myself, but everyone of any consequence knows of The Charmed Leaf.
Send something there. Something outrageous, something that will be certain to grab the attention of the gossip birds. News of anything truly remarkable will spread quickly and will surely reach me before long.
Oh! It must involve a parsnip somehow. That detail will be our secret signal, so I shall know with certainty it was you and not some other mysterious prankster terrorizing tea houses across the realm.
I await news of your daring deed,
Your Reluctant Conspirator
My dear Architect of Mischief,
Brilliant! A public spectacle at The Charmed Leaf? Consider it done.
I am not in Bloomhaven either, but I shall make the necessary arrangements. Within a week, The Charmed Leaf Tea House will play host to a parsnip-related incident that will have gossip birds fluttering their wings in scandalized delight for months to come. I shall spare no expense nor creativity in proving my existence to you.
Until the parsnips make their debut,
Your Conspirator in Scandal
Two days later, the Rowanwood family departed Bloomhaven for their country estate. Their trunks had been sent ahead by carriage, but the family themselves traveled via the swifter and more elegant means afforded by their status—ley line gliders. The enchanted vessels, shaped like elongated leaf-boats with hulls of impossibly thin wood, glided effortlessly along the ancient underground rivers of magic that flowed beneath the realm’s surface, reaching the Rowanwoods’ distant manor in mere hours rather than the several days a carriage journey would have required.
Nearly a fortnight passed after Aurelise proposed her plan, during which she exchanged several more letters with her mysterious (and possibly still imaginary) correspondent. Their topics ranged widely. She learned he had no siblings (and in turn told him she couldn’t decide who she was closer to, her twin brother or her older sister), and admitted she preferred the company of fictional characters—and the ever-blooming roses in her garden—to that of real people.
Then, one afternoon, a letter arrived via magically expedited messenger pixie from her grandmother. That evening at dinner, as Lady Lelianna read the correspondence aloud with increasing astonishment in her voice, Aurelise nearly choked on her peas and had to quickly disguise her laughter as a coughing fit.
It turned out that her stern and proper grandmother had been utterly horrified when a group of performers dramatically invaded afternoon tea at The Charmed Leaf, announcing they were the ‘Court of Vegetable Justice’ and that they were holding an emergency session to try Lady Rivenna Rowanwood for ‘egregious discrimination against the noble parsnip family.’
After recovering from her coughing fit, Aurelise had to bite her lip to keep from dissolving into helpless laughter, her cheeks flushed and her heart pounding as she realized her mysteriouscorrespondent was undeniably, extravagantly real. She could hardly wait to retire to her chambers that night to write to him.
Dear Conspirator in Scandal,
A ‘Court of Vegetable Justice’ summoning Lady Rivenna Rowanwood to trial? You have exceeded my wildest expectations. I don’t believe anyone has ever dared perpetrate such an outrageous prank at The Charmed Leaf in all its storied history.
Consider me thoroughly convinced of your existence.
With astonished regards,
