The oil lamp flickered from a draft coming through a gap where the glass met the window frame. Nothing could be seen in the blackness outside, only the distorted reflections of the room she sat in looked back at her. Defeated, she had been staring at the window for some time, trying to seek inspiration, at her feet and upon the table before her were crumpled and discarded words, attempts to convey what was going on at that present time in her life.
Brother...
Mother...
This may come as a surprise...
This will be a shock...
It has been too long Mother...
Dearest Arithem...
I am writing to inform you...
I wish to make it known...
I apologise for not writing sooner...
For the attention of Arithem....
Mother, I trust you are well?...
Nothing, nothing made the task go easier, a second goblet of wine, a walk in the garden, ignoring it, focusing upon it, nothing. Words had flowed like a river from her lips before now, had fed parchment from the quill with ease, yet this task was unique. She had never had to express such things before, nor did she think she ever would, no matter what promises had been made by others before now. She knew what troubled her. Words can often be misunderstood, especially in the written form. Peoples reactions were unpredictable, passionate, damaging, fueled by their own preconceptions, for if you did not behave the way they thought accepting, then obviously they would put you at fault, you were wrong, you did not act the way they would have, you were the misfit.
Her mother, a bitter, scorned woman, would not take this news well. Her brother, a man who had hopes for her, would likely be more accepting yet all the same disappointed. She had listened to her mothers mantra since she was born, do not trust them. Her mother was right, up to this point. She had accepted her brothers terms, to strengthen what he had built, to wed one of three men in his company, yet now, she could not.
Simple words were needed, to the point, not misunderstood. They might seem cold, but they would be direct, and quickly, yet neatly, written so as not to linger on what their reactions might be. Two crisp, clean pieces of parchment were taken, black ink was used, each letter would be sealed with dark green wax and embedded with a design of twisted ivy, her hallmark for those fortunate, or unfortunate enough to hear from her.
I am to be wed in several days time, I carry his child, I am happy.
