book;

[coquettish_trees]

FORM: Book!
SENDER: Lexie
RECIPIENT: Everyone~
NOTES: discussion of death/grief probably

𝓗𝓪𝓼 𝓪 𝓡𝓲𝓯𝓽𝓮𝓻 𝓮𝓿𝓮𝓻 𝓻𝓮𝓽𝓾𝓻𝓷𝓮𝓭 𝓪𝓯𝓽𝓮𝓻 [ a blot of ink here ]𝓲𝓼𝓪𝓹𝓹𝓮𝓪𝓻𝓲𝓷𝓰?

[ It is elegant handwriting, if a bit uneven. Alexandrie's, for those who are familiar. ]

Comments

[elegiaque]

At least two off the top of my head, but none of them are still here now.

The best ones that have gone haven't come back.

( araceli. kitty, now. that weirdo her husband liked so much. )

private (because I didn't know books could do that but they can!!)

[coquettish_trees]

[ There's a hand she knows. Hers becomes more haphazard, written quickly in Orlesian. ]

I cannot decide if I am going to scream or drink or weep or break something or become the kind of person who prays.

private, orlesian ∞

[elegiaque]

None of those things are what would make her proud, which is doing our jobs and doing better.

[coquettish_trees]

If I throw enough of a fit perhaps it will make her come out of a rift to slap me.




I do not hold these things well anymore.

[elegiaque]

It won't, and you know she'd just be annoyed with you for being melodramatic again.

No one does.

[coquettish_trees]

If she were annoyed she would be here.

[ the period is more of a blot, and then there are a couple of drops heading for the edge of the page; someone's cracked her quill. ]

[elegiaque]

She isn't. Do you think she'd rather you throw a tantrum about it or be useful where she can't be any more?

( it's how gwenaëlle has always dealt with grief, and particularly with grieving the female losses in her life—those who've died and those who are merely absent. what would they have her do. what shape should she make herself into, now. )

[coquettish_trees]

[ The neatness of a freshly sharpened quill. ]

I will go to Yseult tomorrow and tonight I will be as fucking useless as I please.

[ Her grief she had eaten, and what she could not use to fuel the tight cold coil of her vengeful cruelty had been packed hard and small. Now she is a broken pitcher, and what isn't poured out will leak everywhere she goes. ]

I hope she wins her revolution.

[elegiaque]

The Kitty who will,

( she doesn't doubt it for a moment, )

won't remember us or Thedas. But she'll do it.

[coquettish_trees]

[ a little line appears, curling around 'she'll do it', which leaf by leaf becomes a vine and then flowers.

Although the flower is a fist. ]

[elegiaque]

If you really want to irritate her into coming back it should have been a prick.

[coquettish_trees]

You only wish me to draw a prick for you.

[ This is written, stylistically, in the aforementioned shape. ]

[elegiaque]

Yes and thank you, it's lovely.

( friendship. )

[rowancrowned]

( below gwenalle's line, likely scribbled in her own book but in a different hand, )

My son.

[coquettish_trees]

My condolences, Lord Provost. [ The likeliest candidate. ]

I regret I did not know him.