Writing Weekends

My Dear Mai,

Father has become suspicious of our correspondence again so this will be my last letter for a while.

He gives talks of my betrothal to this King Lucas of WiccaWood-for where on earth is that? I certainly haven’t heard of before, Father only names the four kingdoms I am to rule, strangely they are not one of them.

The dreams have gotten worse again. I see my mother in the Moorin Mountains. Lost. Confused. Vengeful. She chants something under her breath then cackles as shadows fly from her as if she is processed which makes me scream until a lady’s maid wakes me up.

I miss you. I hope all is well in the tavern, how is Southport treating you? I hear you have moved. Don’t listen to what those men say in the moment of pleasure for it is me who truly loves you, ever since you served me all those years ago.

Yours truly,


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