*

[Four years later]

*

[GREAT EMPIRE]

[Afternoon]

[Far North-Capital City: OLARIS - Marquess St. Hill’s Residence]

‘...tempestuous seas, the beginning of the end. 

Under Heaven’s blessed watch, in greatness and glory and honour, His Majesty’s Imperial army arrived in magnificent numbers, commanding the war with canons and swords and sacrifice and blood. 

Our brave, honourable men took firm hold of victory against those savages of the south.

In this fourth year, in commemoration and remembrance of our fallen, of their courage and their indomitable spirit, service and sacrifice, His Eminence has decreed that our southern lands shall be entirely reclaimed in the coming months.

May it be known that we, the people of our great nation, celebrate the permanent removal of the southern blight. To be freed completely of the filth and our lands..’ 

-sigh!

Another quiet and dreary afternoon found Violet sitting at her work desk. 

In laying ‘The Chronicles’ aside, she took to a nearby window. Heavy the smog hung above the bustling city far below.  

The far north, unaffected by war, with no need to rebuild infrastructure, advanced greatly over the last few years. 

Electricity hummed. 

Streetcars and automobiles were so common, they stopped turning heads. 

Not everyone had telephones just yet. And the radio and newspapers (apart from the next door newsmonger), still served as the means of reporting to the people.

With the armistice having been honoured, came constant reassurances of lasting peace. 

However, reports oftentimes mixed with rumours, wicked falsities. 

Whether it was true or not mattered little, for citizens took liberties to voice their hate along with their patriotic opinions. 

To counter such, Violet long hoped to tell of the truths. 

The only thing was, words were yet to be written. At least sensible and meaningful ones. 

By the hands of a large standing clock, an hour and ten minutes had gone by. Lost in procrastination and rumination. 

It was finally the end of the week. 

And with another weekend ahead of her and having this time to herself, she desperately wished to begin writing. 

Anything…

In crossing her arms, quill still in hand, she absentmindedly began tapping 

She recalled events clearly, yet..

{How best to tell it? How? Where should I begin?} 

Over the years, whenever time afforded her, day or late evening, she penned down such in great detail. 

However, what she recalled were only that of where and when she was present. 

{What of things as it happened from his viewpoint? Consideration for both sides needs to be told but..to tell of both sides…both?}

As though it were an elaborate play, many parts existed with many characters. 

Some, imprisoned. 

Another to a foreign land. 

And others; most tragically, were no longer in this realm of the living to share in telling of the intricate part they played. 

The telling of events leading up to the war- of its true cause. 

Of details afterwards. Of things no one yet knew. Of things only a few knew. 

Violet could tell all.

Of treaties and agreements drafted. Of secret meetings near the border. Of amended articles. Disagreements and threats and failed signings. 

To explain everything would be most difficult. 

Twice, officials were sent past the border. The first of such, invited into the capital of the Southern Kingdom. 

Both Count Augustine and Count Nalev, on separate occasions, failed to share positive discourse with the south. Citing the disagreeable nature of their sovereign and lords, the many accusations, and the insufferable accommodations and hospitality shown. 

Of such things however, she could not divulge. 

Though not entirely a secret, the people could not yet know. And should she speak of such, her father would undoubtedly face heavy repercussions.

Time ticked onward.

Surrounded by pages upon pages of her years of scribblings; crumpled beginnings, Violet scratched her brow and sighed once more.

{Why is this so difficult?}

Resigning to the fact that no event; especially one as grand and complex as a war, could ever be explained in its entirety, she drew away from the window. 

Little air flowed through the room. 

And upon a wisp of breeze her mind next wandered to present things. Until eventually to thoughts of a certain southerner.

Setting her quill down, she smiled wistfully. 

Shaking free of memories, Violet forced her mind to be busy instead with more important thoughts.

Heavy damages from the attacks on Caspian, the family’s estate suffered. Her father’s attention it required over the years. 

And with both her mother and father almost permanently gone to attend matters, she found herself mostly alone in the overly spacious mansion in charge of much.

In taking up the ledger, she flipped its pages, her mind meandering.  

Not so long ago, a letter was received from her friend, Charlotte. Who, in marrying last spring, told of glad tidings. 

The lady now had a child, a son.  

Violet smiled to herself as she thought of how happy the new parents must be.

The decision on a perfect present to gift them and the babe, still not made. 

She should write to apologise. 

To jot down a reminder of such she began, when someone gently called at the door.

Violet: Come in

It was Markus, a most faithful family retainer.

And he addressed her kindly while carrying a small tray which only meant-

Markus: Letters for you, my lady..

The servant chuckled at the lady’s glum expression and added as he approached

Markus: Cheer up, my lady. There is in fact, one for you today

Violet: Is there?!

Gladly she received it, immediately tearing it open.

Violet: Ah!

It was an invitation. 

An invitation from Anna and Ren to attend their most sacred nuptials. 

It was strange. 

Destruction and death remained in war’s wake. Yet, in spite of everything, life moved on..

{It’s being held back home, during the festival! Then, the weather should be fair. I’m so happy for them both- Anna must be beside herself. Another gift to purchase- I should take note of that also. But what am I to wear? I’ll need to visit the boutique. Hermia might be too busy this time of year though. Hmm, but what if I visit Franca instead? Perhaps, Sylvia? She can rush my order and I could-}

Markus: My lady?

The servant called again but it was the first time Violet heard him

Violet: Mm?…Yes?

Markus: There is another letter here.  Received from a Commander- Commander Jenkins

Violet: Jenkins?

Markus: I believed the Commander visited to call on you, however I was mistaken. He gave me this..the correspondence isn’t from him and he wouldn’t say when asked. I’m uncertain of…who..

In handing it over, he added concernedly 

Markus: …however, it bears your name…

She turned it over and noticed it bore no return address. 

Odd.

Yet, written plainly in quite strong lines, her full name.

Parchment of high quality, sealed neatly with wax of black mingled with red - The family crest upon it, strange and unfamiliar. 

Wings outstretched; atop a tri-peaked mountain, an eagle proudly stood.

As Violet carefully proceeded to open the peculiar letter, Markus observed her.  

Inside, upon the first page, written at the very centre of it, bore only a single sentence. An excerpt from a sonnet penned in black ink.

And immediately she knew who sent it.

Markus must have noted her surprise, for immediately he questioned

Markus: What is it, my lady? Who is it from?

**

She told a little fib.

Uncertain as to why she did so, it did however lessen Markus’ concerns and he soon departed. 

Although, she was quite sure he didn't entirely believe her. 

For most certainly Markus knew; even with his eyes closed, the poor scribblings of her dear cousin Simon.

However, she lied. And to be certain he didn't return, she locked the door behind him. 

And with her back against it, she at once began reading the letter still in hand.

The first page read:

~Let me confess that we two must be twain~

At the very centre, a single sentence and no more.  

Then, the other page began with a most cordial greeting:

Warmest of salutations Lady St. Hill. 

It is my deepest wish that my words arrive to you in good spirits and health. 

Firstly, I sincerely apologise for not writing you sooner and allaying any worries you may have had concerning me. And secondly, for the mysterious nature of this letter. 

–

You and I are acquaintances, I dare say, friends. 

A gracious lady of the Great Empire and a lowly southerner. An unlikely pairing.

When darkness seemingly swallowed me whole, you appeared; most warm and bright. I must tell you and you must know that your tender kindness saved me. I thank you.

Remain forever this way, my dear friend. The world requires it desperately.

Sadly though, the world shall forever refuse to accept our friendship and should we remain such, I shall only bring upon you and yours a great stain and sully your loveliness. 

Cruel and unforgiving this world oft is. I know this well, and I want this not for you. 

Therefore, I bid thee farewell. 

Know that I am at peace. For there exists still amongst wicked ugliness, wholly and unblemished, a kind, beautiful soul in the form of you, my dear friend.

Always and forever, I remain in your debt.

A.

In anxious expectation of there being a postscript, she flipped it over but there was none. 

It simply ended. 

An ‘A’ his mark.

She smiled, content in knowing that he was indeed well. 

Many called for not only him but all southerners; prisoners of the war, to be immediately executed. 

Sending a clear and strong message to the south and to further demonstrate the Empire’s power as a result.

But here he was. 

In re-reading his words, she realised that he addressed her as ‘friend’ some three times, four even. And the first page; words taken from a sonnet, suggested he considered her to be more than such.

However, animosity towards southerners grew since the war. 

His concerns were well founded. 

They could never be more than simply friends, and even that was too much.

Violet: Maybe, perhaps..

She thought aloud, her feet walking her in idle circles around the room

{ .…perhaps, there may finally be an understanding and we can find ourselves free from hurt and hate and instead forgive…}

Violet: It’ll be difficult..

She said to her desk. The blank parchment calling to her. 

Forgiveness will not come easily. 

Violet then seated herself. 

And in setting down the letter, she gave a deep final sigh. Squaring up her shoulders, she concluded

Violet: ..but not impossible..

Difficult and yet, not impossible. 

The journey there shall be long. Yet, first, someone will need to lead the way. Be the one. Be the example. 

Violet: .. I’ve already wasted enough years. I owe it to…to..

Everyone. To perhaps bring comfort or closure towards those remaining. For the future to learn and never be repeated. 

But now, her mind flitted towards memories of 

Violet: …William

Violet glanced at the large clock once more. Almost an hour had passed. Soon it would chime the hour.

Taking up her quill, she dipped it. And with much determination said to herself

Violet: Whatever’s most recent…I’ll begin there. Mm!