Post by Sixteen on Jun 24, 2008 14:32:49 GMT -5
A weird ship featuring Beatrice and Duchess R of Winnipeg.
My dearest Mr. Snicket,
My world is far from quiet; it is currently tumbling down around me. I cannot understand it, Lemony. Everything that I considered constant in my life has suddenly become unstable. Love is a dangerous thing to which only fools fall victim, and I must now fetch my dunce's cap.
I have been brought lately to reminisce on our childhood days. The drama class in which I first met her was one I will never forget. At the time I didn't realise it was love, but I knew it was something I had never felt before, especially not towards another girl. She had that awfully innocent way of tossing her hair out of her face during our performances. It later became part of our coded messages. She would toss her hair and I would scratch my nose:
"I'm getting tired of playing these routine acts over and over again, R."
"Don't worry, B, at least that horrid one-eyebrowed fellow isn't standing opposite you."
We would laugh to ourselves, oblivious to the rest of the class, O included.
You probably remember that expedition we all took to the Mortmain Mountains, although it was a long time ago. Naturally, I was her partner - her caving partner, that is. I was so exhilarated, Lemony. The hours we spent lost in the dark, huddling close to each other, only the fencing masks we had brought were stopping me from stroking her face and leaning in for a kiss. If only I had made my move then I may have saved myself from this shame countless years later.
She was the first to comfort me when my mother died. I spent hours crying on her shoulder, professing my love to her although she could never have identified words through my incoherent sobbing. So many oppurtunities I had, and now they are lost in the marshes of the past.
I am afraid I have already tear-stained this letter to beyond its water retention capacity, so I should get to the point and forget all those now insignificant memories. I approached her this morning, Lemony. We met at that café that sells your favourite root-beer floats. When she entered, my heart skipped a beat or five. She is unashamedly elegant, a pinnacle of perfection. I could sense that she was somewhat distracted as she stirred her float, almost as though she was thinking of someone else. However, it didn't stop me. I told her everything - the feelings that had been bottled up inside me came spilling out like water from a stack of glasses recently knocked over by a waiter. Then, I presented her with the ring. That stupid, stupid ring. You know the one, it has been passed down my family from Duchess to Duchess and now I pass it to you, Mr. Snicket. I can hardly bear to look at it any more.
"Oh, R," she sighed at me. I took the tears welling up in her eyes to be those of joy, of requited love. The last thing I expected to come out of her mouth was "I'm sorry. I'm sorry for all this pain I am about to cause you, R, but we can never be together. Despite the fact that it will be quite some time before two women will be allowed to marry, I am in love with somebody else. I am so very sorry."
But that is exactly what she said.
I know you are a good friend of hers, Lemony, and I hope you can convey my feelings in a more rhetorical way than I ever could. Perhaps you could also discover the identity of her lover. I have been worrying that it is someone within our very own organisation, the affair occuring right under my naïve foolish nose.
With all due respect,
R.
Lemony was tying his response to the carrier crow's leg as Beatrice walked into his apartment. He quickly grabbed the Duchess' ring and placed it in his pocket, saving it for a later date...
Vivez l'esprit
My dearest Mr. Snicket,
My world is far from quiet; it is currently tumbling down around me. I cannot understand it, Lemony. Everything that I considered constant in my life has suddenly become unstable. Love is a dangerous thing to which only fools fall victim, and I must now fetch my dunce's cap.
I have been brought lately to reminisce on our childhood days. The drama class in which I first met her was one I will never forget. At the time I didn't realise it was love, but I knew it was something I had never felt before, especially not towards another girl. She had that awfully innocent way of tossing her hair out of her face during our performances. It later became part of our coded messages. She would toss her hair and I would scratch my nose:
"I'm getting tired of playing these routine acts over and over again, R."
"Don't worry, B, at least that horrid one-eyebrowed fellow isn't standing opposite you."
We would laugh to ourselves, oblivious to the rest of the class, O included.
You probably remember that expedition we all took to the Mortmain Mountains, although it was a long time ago. Naturally, I was her partner - her caving partner, that is. I was so exhilarated, Lemony. The hours we spent lost in the dark, huddling close to each other, only the fencing masks we had brought were stopping me from stroking her face and leaning in for a kiss. If only I had made my move then I may have saved myself from this shame countless years later.
She was the first to comfort me when my mother died. I spent hours crying on her shoulder, professing my love to her although she could never have identified words through my incoherent sobbing. So many oppurtunities I had, and now they are lost in the marshes of the past.
I am afraid I have already tear-stained this letter to beyond its water retention capacity, so I should get to the point and forget all those now insignificant memories. I approached her this morning, Lemony. We met at that café that sells your favourite root-beer floats. When she entered, my heart skipped a beat or five. She is unashamedly elegant, a pinnacle of perfection. I could sense that she was somewhat distracted as she stirred her float, almost as though she was thinking of someone else. However, it didn't stop me. I told her everything - the feelings that had been bottled up inside me came spilling out like water from a stack of glasses recently knocked over by a waiter. Then, I presented her with the ring. That stupid, stupid ring. You know the one, it has been passed down my family from Duchess to Duchess and now I pass it to you, Mr. Snicket. I can hardly bear to look at it any more.
"Oh, R," she sighed at me. I took the tears welling up in her eyes to be those of joy, of requited love. The last thing I expected to come out of her mouth was "I'm sorry. I'm sorry for all this pain I am about to cause you, R, but we can never be together. Despite the fact that it will be quite some time before two women will be allowed to marry, I am in love with somebody else. I am so very sorry."
But that is exactly what she said.
I know you are a good friend of hers, Lemony, and I hope you can convey my feelings in a more rhetorical way than I ever could. Perhaps you could also discover the identity of her lover. I have been worrying that it is someone within our very own organisation, the affair occuring right under my naïve foolish nose.
With all due respect,
R.
Lemony was tying his response to the carrier crow's leg as Beatrice walked into his apartment. He quickly grabbed the Duchess' ring and placed it in his pocket, saving it for a later date...