Expression of Regret

[No Face]

Slipped beneath the cracks of the front door of the Knightsbridge house was a folded letter addressed to Liessel Eprhale.


The disrespect of my actions in your home shames me. You are owed an apology. It is one that you do not have to accept, embrace, or even allow. But it must be said that I am sorry. I have been told that hurt people hurt people. We both drew our fair share of blood, but I confess those cuts were never equal. Many times, I’ve become the worst version of myself around you. It is unfair to you, and I apologize. 

I did not believe you when you said that you only arrived that day at the Garden as a messenger. Among a group of people that I so desperately wanted to belong with, it hurt to know that I was an outsider; a problem that needed to be fixed. Most days, I still don't feel as though I belong. I called you a liar and I was wrong. You were simply trying to help your friends. 

I want you to know that I heard you. You are in the steps of figuring out who you are and what you want to be. You are learning. A flower is not made to grow from clay and concrete. It needs earth, light, and water for it to flourish. It was wrong of me to ask something of you when your roots have yet to be taken to the soil. I apologize that I cannot offer the enrichments you need to grow. I do not have the patience and tact that Avery and Aurelia do, and I truly fear I would cause you more harm than good.

I asked you why you desired to have a friendship with me, but I never told you why I wish for the same. I think you are magnificent when you are honest. I think you shine your brightest when you allow yourself to push past the boundaries of the rules that were forced upon you. There is so much more to you than polite compassion that you freely hand out to others, and it is those other parts that you keep locked away within yourself that make you worth knowing. It is why, even after recent events, I still hold onto hope for a friendship between us.

I will not be returning to the Knightsbridge house. I think it is best I keep my distance. Please know that I wish you all the encouragement as you move forward and that I am truly sorry for my actions.

Adeline.

[Liessel]

Once upon a time a wordweaver had been asked to weave her words. The favor had been a request made before a mighty battle, one that would decide the fate of a world far from where the Wordweaver made her home.

The note was found where it had fallen when slipped between that thin crack between the door and its frame. The little piece of paper, and the words written on it, had drifted in its fall to land just inside the foyer where it would sit and rest until mechanical hands picked it up.

Later that day, as a young woman returned to the house, the letter was given to its intended recipient.

It was read.

Once.

Twice.

Thrice.

And then it was carried gently, safely, to the second floor of the grand house and slipped between the pages of a well used, and well loved notebook.

When the favor had been asked, it had been done with the thought in mind that momentos might be needed. Without any idea of outcomes, the request had been so that she’d have some of the Wordweaver with her should she need to stay, just as she had some of all of her friends trapped within physical trinkets that she’d collected over the course of her months in London.

But, that little piece of paper was not going to fullfill that role as it was slipped between the shelter of pages in a book that Liessel kept safe. It was to fullfill another role. One of hope, still, but a different kind of hope. The hope was more of a prayer, more of a wish than reminder.

Where ever the Wordweaver was going, where ever she would be, Liessel prayed for her safety with the keeping of that note. She prayed for her happiness. The priestess prayed that they would, yet, meet again.


Apology accepted, Adeline Webber.

Apology accepted.