Dear Sunlight after the Rain,

Yesterday was like being in the eye of the storm and I could only pick up the pen today. I apologize about the delay.

After hearing the speech I painstakingly memorized, Master replied with, “Oh.” Pause. “Cool.” Period. He then added: “Don’t call me Master.”

I could’ve drowned inside out from the tears I had held back. And yes–be proud, for I did not shed a single tear in front of Master. I smiled politely and sat down at the table and half-listened to him explaining the year’s curriculum to my father.

I thought he was displeased with me.

Was it my height? Was it the speech? Was there a freckle in the wrong place, a hair out of line, what if my eyes are the shade of an ex-lover’s from a turbulent relationship? All these thoughts raced in my head.

Lottie Underwood would not stand for expulsion. I would show him how capable and amazing I was! I slammed the table.

“Tell me of this offence I have caused you and I will rectify it!”

He turned to me with his eyes wide as saucers, feigning innocence.

“I am most desirous of staying here and benefiting under your tutelage. I can think of little else but of my thirst for your enlightenment. You also have a sublime garden,” I proclaimed.

“Lottie,” Dad said and cleared his throat.

“I will study from moonlight to morn if you desire it. I will even consider cooking and cleaning.”

“Lottie, darling–” Dad’s smooth and patient voice supported me as I stood on the wooden chair.

“Well,” Master finally spoke. “If you really want to.” His grin grew to his ears. “What’s your best potion?” he asked.

As you know, there are many things I boast of. Yet when asked forthrightly so, I drew a blank. Every second nudged me towards the end of a long, dark corridor.

“I can make a potion that will make a pig fly!”

Dad spat out his tea.

Master didn’t even bat his eyes as Dad apologised a storm and proceeded to vanish the stain from the wall.

“That’s pretty cool,” he said, but his expression didn’t change.

Did he believe me? I incredulously thought. My heart threatened to burst. Out of my overabundance of skills that could’ve given credibility to my talents, I had told a fat, rotten lie.

In the crushing silence I furiously wove a web of excuses and equations in my head. Thoughts entered and exited my mind in a flurry.

If he asks me to prove it, what should I do?

Should I smile and say it was a joke?

Should I laugh and say it was metaphorical?

Should I strap a rocket on a pig and send it flying into space?

Damn the animal rights, my life was at stake here, I decided.

“In that case,” he said, and stood up. “I have a task for you.”

Oh no, Master is calling me for dinner. I will continue my correspondence in the next letter!

Your Loving Lottie