Epistolary

[Nephti]

Writing...

10th Fall 516

Finally she was ready. A bottle of ink rested on the ground in front of her and Nephti curled in a ball with the paper against the ground, hovering a quill above it. Finally she was going to write it, write to her parents and tell them everything. Finally.

She scrawled against the top in the neatest Arumenic she could muster. "Dearest mother and father," she began, whispering the words softly as she wrote them. Then she stopped, letting tears fall out of her eyes as she realised how she had wronged them all. They fell on the paper and she let them, the splodges telling stories of their own. "I'm well," she finally continued, "I am safe and you don't need to worry about me." Reading back over it, she scowled changing her mind. She scratched out the "don't need" and replaced it with "shouldn't" then changed it again to "mustn't". She was fair better than she was when she stayed with them, because she understood how much she drained their resources. That wasn't why she had left however.

"I am well and," then she stopped, scribbling it all out. That wasn't what this letter was for. It was actually an apology, to her parents and to her goddess. "I am sorry. I am so sorry and I know you don't deserve this. You don't deserve to lose your daughter again, after just getting her back. You don't deserve any of what you have had to go through. I am so sorry for leaving you."

She started to cry again, staining the sheet with her tears again. The ink smudged and smeared, but was still readable. "I am beyond sorry. I hate to have to ask, but please forgive me. I only wish that I could have been stronger."

Where was that strength she knew she had once possessed? Gone was the hope that things would be better, gone was the determination in her to be the one to spark that change. She had seen the city, her city in darkness and had been scared of it, rather than bringing light. Priskil looked down on her now. Priskil looked down on her cowardice, and Nephti looked down on herself too. She had been marked - marked! - yet she threw that all away to keep a memory that she held. Even when all her hoping was rewarded, she wasn't happy. Would she ever be happy?

"I have a million excuses, but you deserve none of them. I should have stayed, I know that now. But I saw you, as you were, not as you wanted me to see you, and that terrified me. I didn't want to bring you any more struggle. You don't deserve that. You don't deserve to lose your daughter more, though."

Her fingers traced her word, speaking lightly with her tongue and letting the language drip off like honey. But this was a child's vocabulary, spilling onto the pages, and she was no longer a child. Her Arumenic came from days long ago, from when she was a different person.

"I will return, I promise. Until then, I will stay here, in Alvadas. I have a room here, it is large, comfortable; I have enough money and can support myself. You don't need to worry about me. I will be fine. I hope you will be too. I promise I will write, in every moment that is given me. All I ask of you is to forgive me."

Breaking down again, she held herself back from crying audibly. She was a cruel, heartless daughter and didn't deserve her parents. Unable to write another word, she signed her name, folding the letter and sealing it with wax. Pressing it lightly against her lips, she poured her love into it, knowing it would be lost.

But she sent it like that anyway, just wanting a reply. Wanting to hear her parents' - read her parents' words - once again.

[Nephti]

Cooking...

A Later Date

Nephti was in Claudia's kitchen, in that quaint yellow bricked house, standing on a small stool beside the stove. On it, a large iron pot bubbled, with a stew brewing inside that the girl was currently tending to. As the smells wafted up, of onions and carrots and wine, she gave it a stir, before shifting over to the table, where the ex-Drykas worked. "Need any help?" the girl asked, Claudia nodding gratefully as she stepped up and away from the chopping board.

"If you don't mind, just chop this rabbit up for me - just in half, that'll do," the woman gestured to where she wanted the cut, "I'll check on the stew." Nodding, Nephti replaced her, taking the knife in one hand as another held the rabbit while two more pulled it all closer to her. Slowly, she sawed at the meat, struggling to cut through the pink flesh. Finally, the blade slipped through and she pulled the two sides apart, looking up at Claudia, who was sprinkling some herbs into the mixture.

"What now?" she asked, the woman dropping her job as she hurried over, pulling out a pan.

"There's butter in a cupboard somewhere - you'll need to melt that in here and fry the rabbit in it, okay?"

With another nod, she hunted around until she found a stick of butter, melting it slowly in the pan. Once it was soft enough, she added one of the pieces of rabbit, listening to the sizzle of the butter and enjoying the rich smells that drifted up.

There was a knock at the door. "I'll get it," Claudia announced, disappearing out of the kitchen. Nephti continued with her work, pushing the rabbit a bit so it would cook over every side. Her focus loosened, enjoying the smell of food, until Claudia returned, confusion in her voice.

"It was a letter - for you? The courier had said someone had directed them here. That someone had said that you could be found here?"

Nephti shrugged, slipping over to take the letter. Even as she touched it, she could feel the warmth of the desert seeping through it, feel the sand running through her fingers. It was from home, from her parents.

"I need to read the letter. Now?" she said simply, waiting for Claudia's response. The woman shook her head, batting her hands at her.

"Go read it! I'll have lunch ready before you know it!"

[Nephti]

Reading...

"Our dearest Nephti,

Please, do not trouble yourself over leaving us. I'd hate to see you worry for us; it isn't your job. We'll worry about you, but that's only because that's our job as your parents. If you had to leave, we understand. We miss you, of course, we miss you everyday, in every bell, chime, tick, but we know you are safe, and we have missed you far more before.