To my dear Senior,
I trust this letter finds you in good health, and that your voyage home was a safe one. The sea this year has been quite temperamental. I heard from Father’s men that storms lingered along the coast, and the thought of your ship swaying upon that restless water made me dreadfully uneasy. I hope it did not delay you by much, nor make you ill from the journey. Hemrallt has been much the same as ever in summer: the sky a little too blue, the air heavy with the scent of roses and gossip alike. The season calls for endless luncheons, teas, and charitable lunacies, and I have been paraded from one drawing room to another in my mother’s wake. She insists that I must “look radiant” and “cultivate connections,” but all I wish is a quiet afternoon beneath the oak by the north fence, where I might read undisturbed and let the cicadas chatter in my stead.
Father, meanwhile, occupies himself with the business of the estate. I assist when I can, reviewing ledgers and correspondence, though it often feels as though my mind drifts elsewhere. Perhaps to a room smelled of paper and wood, or to a certain conversation about the curious manners of poets. I find myself recalling these moments with more fondness than I anticipated; distance lends a certain glow to memory, does it not? The days pass in their usual ceremony, yet I cannot rid myself of a peculiar sense of absence, as though something essential remains in Friedenburg — or perhaps, with you. It is a dreadful confession to make, I know, but I have grown used to your quiet presence, your patient regard, and even your infuriating ability to make silence seem eloquent.
Please give my regards to Yomu; I hope she continues to read as much tale as possible. I still remember her fascination with tea leaves. Tell her that I have found a perfect blend in the city that I am quite certain she would love. Thinking about it, I shall bring them back for her when term begins anew. Do write when you have the leisure; the post between Azuma and Caledonia is notoriously unhurried, and I should hate to think my next letter reaches you before your reply departs. At times like this, it would be nice to be able to hear your voice.
The sunsets here are longer, darling, but somehow lonelier. Perhaps it is merely the mischief of summer — or perhaps I am foolishly too fond of your company to be content without it.
Yours ever, Alessia
My dear Lessie,
Your letter reached me not long after I arrived, and it was the most welcome interruption to the clamor of homecoming. I arrived in Azuma without incident, though the sea did its best to remind me who commands whom; I spent a good portion of the voyage clutching the railing and reconsidering my admiration for maritime travel. Still, the air here is kinder. The estate remains as it ever was too. It was large, drafty, and filled with more relatives than any sensible household should contain. I have been pressed into service as courier, errand boy, and, on occasion, mediator between my mother and the gardener over the matter of the hydrangeas. Yomu has grown a little taller and infinitely sticks to my side; she insists on showing me every new thing she has learned while I’ve been away, and I pretend to be surprised each time. My uncle has taken to inviting me to his izakaya in the evenings, under the pretext of “catching up,” though I suspect it is merely an excuse to test how much I can drink without complaining, and of course, to dig deeper into my relationship with you. The beach nearby is preparing for its festival, and the lanterns have already begun to appear. I imagine the entire coast will soon glow like a line of fireflies, and thinking how beautiful you would like under the orange hue of the festival.
Your description of Hemrallt painted the place so vividly that I could almost smell the roses myself, though I confess I would not envy your endless rounds of social engagements. It sounds exhausting, though you endure it with more grace than you likely realise. I do hope you steal a few hours for yourself when you can. Perhaps beneath that oak you mentioned, or wherever the sunlight falls gently enough not to trouble you. It is strange how accustomed I have grown to your chatter; the days here are loud in sound but quiet in thought. I find myself, at odd hours, missing the sound of your voice asking questions that need no answers. Yomu was delighted to hear of the tea blend, and she has already thought about the cookies she will bake in the future. You appear to have made quite the impression.
The tide is out now, and the horizon is beginning to blur into dusk. I should end here before the lamp attracts more moths than I can politely ignore. Do take care of yourself, Lessie. I too, cannot wait to hear your voice. We can only hope that the future will be kinder, and when we are apart next time, we can keep each other company through long conversations. Without limitation of written words.
The summer can be cruel to those who dislike it, but I hope it is at least kind enough to keep you well until we meet again.
Yours always, Yoshiro