verb.
To reel backwards. To go back to the beginning.
The chance to tell the story anew.
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'I'll be looking for you, every moment, every single moment. And when we do find each other again, we'll cling together so tight that nothing and no one'll ev...
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I dream about you, and yet I have never seen your face.
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Forgive me, dear princess, for I cannot think how to begin. I feel I am at the beginning of some great story, but am afraid to turn the first page. They all start the same way, don't they? Though we are no longer children and do not believe in 'once upon a time' tales anymore, I hope our story is one you look forward to reading.
A harsh jolt of the carriage wheel over a stone jerked the young woman from her absent gazing out the window. Unconsciously, her fingers tightened around the folded parchment held in her lap, nestled safety in the layers of soft silks and tulle that enveloped her legs, her lips pressing into an anxious, thin line as she glanced back to that piece of paper. The creases of that letter had once been sharp, clear. Now they were softened by wear, as pliant as the fabric of her gown after being folded and unfolded so many times over the last few weeks.
She knew every word on those pages. Had examined every careful stroke of the writer's quill, touched her fingers to the midnight black lettering as if there were further secrets contained within the oak galls that had been crushed into submission to form the writer's ink.
Perhaps you already think me a melancholy fool, speaking of children's tales. My advisors tell me I should be offering you words of devotion and flattery, but I think that would also paint me as a fool. I cannot pour honeyed words onto this paper any more than I can sprout wings and fly to your window to deliver it. Would you wish me to wax lyrical of your beauty when I have never so much as glimpsed a portrait of you? Fawn over your talents when word of you has only reached me from courtiers and I have not been allowed to judge for myself? I have no wish to condescend you.
A low, anxious exhale left her as she turned the parchment over in her fingers, her eyes lifting to meet the curious green gaze of her lady-in-waiting, seated across the carriage from her. She knew her emotions must be painted across her features with alarming clarity, but this may be her last opportunity to feel them without concealing them.
I must admit I envy them, though. Those who have glimpsed you, known you for themselves. Already they are several steps ahead of my own eyes, my own judgement, when I am more anxious to meet you than any of them. Anxious is a fitting word - to say I am eager would be truthful, and yet to say I am trepidatious would also be the truth, though I feared choosing either of those might offend you.
