Dear Grams;

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Dear Grams;

Another day in the middle of Nowhere. How's London? Exciting, I hope. Do write all about it to me. I haven't heard from you for months- it's almost like you aren't getting my letters. Please; I need all the entertainment I can get in this old town. You know I've never even been outside the village- that says a lot about how desperate I am.

Mother and Pops are ever so insistent about me staying in Carsden until I become an adult. I have but one year left, and I am so positively excited. I do wish I didn't have to wait that long, though. It is because of that stupid obligation I couldn't compete in the Aureal TriAthelon preliminary race.

Valerie Homerman got picked for it instead. I'm so jealous- I could've won, I swear! But as soon as I asked my Mom and Pop about entering, they threatened to take me out of school if I set so much as one foot on the track. They're ever so paranoid; so what if I dare go somewhere out of town for once? I hear it's nice as soon as you get past the Unlived Forest.

Perhaps the disappearance of Maggie Rose has elevated their suspicions these past days. Do you remember the young girl who stole the muffin from the bakery a few months past, the one I wrote to you about? That was Maggie Rose. Apparently, she was last seen playing in the forest. The town is in a downright frenzy, but I wouldn't worry. She probably got lost. The menfolk will find her soon. But the parents are jumping on the example to stop their children from even dreaming of entering the forest.


On another note, the weather here is most horrific, Grams. The rain constantly pounds against my window panes and the sky is a perpetual dark grey. My dress got ruined by the rain the other day- ugh. It will take at least three washes to get the brown out, but there's no way to dry the clothes when the rain will not stop. The roads aren't even roads anymore; just vaguely strip-shapes puddle of mud that get on everybody. Biscuits is hiding under the bed as I write, whimpering from the lightning that periodically slices the sky.

Lately, the dogs in Carsden have been acting very peculiarly, biting and foaming at the mouth. Little Joey even got infected yesterday, but hopefully, he'll turn out alright. I was quite shaken at the thought, but I have complete faith in Biscuit. I'm sure he'll never turn on us, that old hound.


Can you believe it's already October? I'm truly excited for the Harvest Festival at Dour Lake; it's coming up so soon! Though I must be careful when I wear my new dress there; I nearly fell into the lake last year, and I quite a far distance from the bank. I swear that something pulled me in. Or perhaps Valerie pushed me. That's devilish imp.

Pops and I are baking a frenzy of pastries for the festival. I do hope that the rain will give up soon. It would be an awful shame for the festivities to be cancelled by foul weather, especially when we worked so hard on the treats. Pops and I have a system going; I make and knead the dough, he bakes and ices them, and I pack the finished treats. The house smells of pumpkin spice and cinnamon.


Yesterday I met a young man in the other class. He is a handsome one, that, with wavy black-brown hair and two-colored eyes. He is not exactly perfect, but he seems a funny enough companion, though one who flirts quite desperately. Maybe I will string him along for a while. This will be amusing. 

Remember Darius, from a few months ago? He is still clinging to the hope I will accept him after five rejections. It is quite funny. He follows me around like an annoying puppy, but what can I do? I can't say it's not gratifying to have him stutter his compliments whenever he sees me. I asked Lilyana, whom Dayson also has taken a fancy to, to take him out of my hands, but she demanded a heavy price; two chocolate almond croissant extraordinaires. I begrudgingly agreed; she better be good at her job, or God pray for her soul.


In all truth- which is downright hilarious, Grams, because you know I tell nearly all but- this may seem like an abundance of news, but Carsden is boring as ever. Remember to write back, or perhaps I will send Biscuits out to tear off a toe or two to get you moving.

Sincerely,

Wren  

Wren  

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