Dear Snub,

I offer you my utmost sincere apology for neglecting our correspondence. I trust you have been eagerly awaiting the nature of the task my master bestowed on me.

The trial that determined my future rested on a small basil plant.

When I received the basil plant housed in a brown pot, snug in soil dark with moisture, I thought I was supposed to make this plant fly. However Master said, “I want you to look after this guy until next week.”

Its leaves were fresh and healthy–nothing out of the ordinary. The task didn’t seem to amount to what was at stake here. Sniffing the plant, I was somewhat disappointed to find the plant smelled just as a normal, healthy basil would smell.

“It’s pretty simple. As long as it’s not withered in the next two weeks, you pass.”

There had to be a much darker, deeper meaning to all this.

Fearing this was some sort of courage test, I hastily accepted and carried the bundle of my dreams up to my room.

The room prepared for me is a thousand times better than a childhood treehouse hut, a million times more exciting than a secret underground hideout.

It’s located on the second floor of the house, with the wooden ceiling hugging one side of the triangular slope, fitted with sturdy frames across the wall like that of a cabin. Fairy lights hang across the beams and one particular beam has a hammock chair hanging by a thick rope.

As I write to you now, light is filtering through the large window above the expansive slab of wooden desk, spanning across the entire wall. The edges are raw and it curves in odd places, but it’s spacious and smooth. You couldn’t ask for a better letter writing desk. Next to it are floating shelves perfect for my books and jars of button collection.

The shaggy rug on the ground looks like moss, and the smell of pine and sunlight makes my lungs tremble with excitement.

Sparklers have lit my mind aflame and I don’t think I can sleep tonight with all the ideas I have of transforming this room with my personal touch.

Your Lovely Lottie P.S: Oh, and I ended up asking Master if he has seen a woman with skin as white as the moon and dress as dark as the night sky in his garden before. I asked if it was a customer of his. He replied that it could be a spirit in his garden. Rest assured his house isn’t haunted–he was meaning spirits of the world sometimes visit his gardens. Spirits, Snu. Spirits visit his gardens!