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FIFTEEN FIRST SNOW FROSTBITE
🍒💌🕊
WHEN INA WAKES UP Saturday morning, she is almost certain that she must have imagined whatever weird thing happened with that piece of parchment when she tried to write a letter to her mother that Thursday.
No—she's more than certain. It must have been her nerves about writing back to her parents that made her imagine things then, but Ina is sure it wasn't anything more than a trick of light. And she's going to prove it, beyond all doubt... Right now.
Still clad in her pajamas, she leaps for her bag, digging around for her quill, before flopping down onto her bed with said parchment in hand.
Although it is still fairly early in the morning, the golden rays of the morning sun shine through the curtains, and most of her roommates have already gone down for breakfast. Only her and Poppy remain in the room, the latter slumbering peacefully in her bed.
With a deep breath, Ina lays the parchment flat on her bed in front of her, and then hesitates, her quill poised barely a centimeter away from it.
She did imagine it... Didn't she?
And then, before she can rethink it all, her hand moves and the nib of her quill is on the parchment, leading a long, thick streak of ink in its wake as the words form almost of their own free will.
Dear—
This time when her writing disappear, Ina finds she isn't quite as surprised.
I thought I already told you, there's no need to call me dear.
She takes a sharp breath, looking away quickly.
Then, painstakingly slow, she turns her gaze back, holding her breath...
Yes, the words are most definitely there.
A moment passes, and Ina isn't sure what to do. Maybe this is someone playing a prank on her?
She should probably get rid of it. She knows that its the best course of action. After all, a strangely sentient piece of parchment that writes back to you is exactly a recipe for disaster.
And yet... The curiosity tickling the back of her mind hums a tune, telling her she should keep it—hell, even figure out what it is.
Another moment passes, and then she's touching the tip of her quill to the paper once again.
Who are you?
This time, it takes longer for the words to fade away.
I think the correct question would be what, not who, the words blossom.
