Dear sister,
I know I sent you a letter only a day ago, yet I do not know how else to deal with what has happened but by writing yet another letter to which you most likely will never reply.
There is much to deal with indeed as our dear father has found a husband for me.
A son of an important man in The Town’s Council. I have not yet met him, but I hear he is kind and has thick brown hair.
What more can I ask?
The man whom my heart truly desires would prefer a more experienced woman. I am but a child in his eyes… And this impression I have only underlined by turning wordless in his presence. Can you imagine that dear sister? Babbling Sarie unable to find words, afraid of saying or doing something wrong. Frozen and shy!
I doubt he finds me pleasing in other ways either. He did agree with your impression, that I do look like an uptight daughter of a prude man and expressed his liking on the looks of a woman who carried herself differently. Yet when I have seen these women who clad themselves in lesser and tighter garments, I find myself uncomfortable.
I fear I am indeed an uptight daughter of a prude man!
Perhaps in your accurate judgement on my character lies my path. My best chances lie in marrying a man like father. A prude man of law.
You will hate how I turned your past words against you. But can you really blame me, as you failed to reply to my letters?
You will hate my future husband, like you have always hated everything father has chosen or decided for us.
You will never attend our wedding ceremony, or if you will, you will observe it from afar, mourning my fate as if attending my burial.
You will deem me a lost cause, tarnished and manipulated wholly by our father.
You will never accept I chose to marry an unknown man by myself.
Yet this is what I did and will do.
As an uptight daughter of a prude man.
I was always your opposite, dear sister, so it is only natural we should find our happiness in opposite directions.
Yet there was never a moment I did not love you.
I loved you when I tried to comb your tangled hair down, I loved you when I sought to correct your vulgar language, I loved you when I pleaded you to leave your unlawful endeavours, I loved you when father said I should never mention you again. I loved you when I said I was the only child, I loved you when you left without saying a word.
Yet I would appreciate a word, Fiona.
And if I am married when you return, I plead you to visit. We will tell him you are my strange outcast cousin. You will live up to this makeshift title. You will make him blush with your blunt words. I will hide my face. Behind my hands I will hope that you can at least appreciate the fact that he has good hair.
Your loving sister,
Sarie
