∴ ∵ ∴
A month had passed since Tien came with a store’s worth of items to show them.
As it turned out, the dress, the veil, the shoes, and the jewelry were all decided that day. He was the most annoying man whenever he acted the part of her older brother, but she could depend on him when it came to his trade.
The wonderful thing about him was that, despite his numerous suggestions, Rose was always the one with the final say. She was left feeling satisfied with every choice, while her selected items had far better taste than if she had gone at it alone.
Measurements had already been taken, and the dress was coming together without a hitch.
After thoroughly learning about what a wedding entailed, Rose realized she would be more pitiful by the end of winter than a sheep being auctioned off. It was like a bad joke for a scrawny witch to receive God’s blessing for her marriage before the people while dressed in a noblewoman’s finery.
But it wasn’t all bad—she would get to see Harij in his full knight’s attire in return. She was beside herself with excitement for that day to come.
✦ ✦ ✦
∴ ∵ ∴
THE mailbox closed with a bang. Rose locked it with the key hanging from her neck and rowed the boat to the hermitage. She fiddled the door open while staring at the letter she had retrieved.
“…L?”
The sender’s name consisted of a single initial. That wasn’t all too strange for a letter sent by a client—only a fool would write their full name on correspondence meant for a witch.
Rose kicked the door shut behind her, ladylike manners be damned, and sliced open the letter. The envelope was far too cute to be used for requesting a witch’s services. A sweet and flowery fragrance wafted from the envelope, which had finely detailed notches added to look like the edges were trimmed with lace, and dainty flowers had been painted on the stationery. The colorfully detailed flowers were all types that bloomed in the summer. They were not the wildflowers found growing deep in the forest, but rather the fragile blooms grown in a nobleman’s garden under the tender love and care of a gardener.
What kind of crazy person would spray perfume on a letter addressed to a witch using such expensive and high-quality stationery?
Disturbed, Rose removed the paper from the envelope, her jaw dropping as she began reading the letter.
Dear Noble Witch of the Lake,
The flowers coloring the garden are swaying in the slight breeze. How have you been these fine days, Beautiful Witch of the Lake?
I would like to express my sincere gratitude for your tremendous help the other day. Please forgive me for thanking you not in person, but through letter instead. Due to unforeseeable circumstances, I had no choice but to refrain from visiting you. I will come again at a later date to greet you—I promise it.
I cannot thank the Goddess enough for our chance encounter, though it involved meeting you when I was not at my best. Every time I catch a glimpse of the clear moon, my thoughts return to that day when I met the beautiful and graceful Witch for the first time, and my chest burns with longing all night long. Our encounter was the most joyous, wonderful, and fantastic moment of my life. Every time I close my eyes, I vividly recall your awe-inspiring presence and refined bearing.
If you are the brilliantly shining moon, then I wish to become the star that glows beside you. Nothing would make me happier than for that to come to be.
You are the radiance that illuminates the everlasting darkness, the heavenly umbrella that blocks the rain and the wind, the undulating sea of benevolence, the mellow spring ice—
Eyes rolling, Rose quietly folded the letter up. Five more pages of poetic language unlike anything that had ever been sent to witch’s hermitage continued after that.
For some reason, it brought to mind a dreadful illness coined “chuunibyou” in a faraway land. The symptoms were: suddenly having multiple personalities, left hand tingling, the growth of a third leg—it was said to be a terrible disease that only a handful of children of a certain age suffer.
“…It must be that girl.”
At least she knew the sender’s identity—no question, it was the muddy girl who had fallen into the pit the other day.
She unfolded the letter once more and quickly scanned her eyes over it. Once she confirmed it wasn’t a request letter, she slid it between some books on her shelf.