Dear sister,
My heart has grown dreadful for I have not received a letter from you. I can only hope you are safe and in glee spirits.
I myself feel lost. I wander along the cobbled streets, seeking for you and your council related to the matter I expressed in my previous letter: A matter of a man.
I have read hundreds of tales about love, yet seem to understand nothing of it. The painful side of it strangely overwhelming.
He said I am too young and his friend said the same. She laughed.
Their words pierce my heart as I can not change this quality in me, neither can I control what I have grown to feel for him.
Should I seek to age myself against the nature's will, or should I let go of my hopeless dream? Father would never give my hand to this man and my hand is too young for this man to accept.
What a useless hand I have attached to my arm!
If this would be a tragic tale about love I would drown myself into the river, yet you know how I fear fishes, Fiona. It is simply out of question.
I miss your confidence, as I seem to have lost mine so wholly.
While wandering around the streets I found the button that had fell from your dress. I would attach it to this letter should I be less selfish. Yet as it's all I have of you now, I shall treasure it until you reply or return.
I have named it Bill.
Yes, I have named a button.
It depicts well the nature of my despair. My only friend is your loose button.
Think of that and be swift in yor reply.
Your little sister,
Sarie
