thewolfeinwillowell: (girl in forest)
[personal profile] thewolfeinwillowell posting in [community profile] dearcousin
Dear Emma,

It is so good to hear from you! I'm sorry I have not written sooner, but you know moving is always such an ordeal, especially when there is no one to help you. Thank you for telling me about my body. It had been killing me not knowing how I looked afterward. I had hoped it would be more Sleeping Beauty, but at least not many people saw me before the make-up, eh? Sorry about the vomit, though. Take comfort in knowing that elsewhere, your cousin remains young and beautiful and shall remain young and beautiful forevermore. At least, I think so. I haven't quite figured out how aging works here.

I am settling nicely into my new place here at Willowell Apartments. It is numbered 2 and sits on the second floor, which I share with five other tenants. They are the strangest sorts of people, and I will be sure to tell you about each of them.

But first, I must amend my earlier statement: It was not entirely fair for me to say there was no one to help me move. The day I arrived at Willowell, I met a very tall and pointy-eared fellow: Christophe Elric, the hobgoblin who lives in Apartment 3. When he caught me standing in my empty living room (in that horrid blue dress, no less—I hope he doesn't still remember me in it), he marched into my apartment and insisted upon taking me furniture shopping. I did not want to burden someone I had only just met, so I assured him I could get by on my own, but you know how older people are. He is almost thirty, I would guess, if not several hundred years older. I think he felt bad for me that I was here all alone and buried in only my dress and shoes. I explained that it is our custom to bury folk in only their death clothes. He said no more but pressed his lips together and frowned. He is very polite and will not criticize other people's practices, no matter how misinformed. But I don't blame anybody for not constructing me a tomb to house my four-poster bed or tucking my favorite Cibo Matto CD into my coffin beneath my body. How could they have known that I would take with me the contents of my grave?

In any case, my apartment is now furnished exactly how I want it, all dark cherry wood and white gauze curtains and wall hangings. It is not unlike living inside a valentine covered in cobwebs: very beautiful and also very sad. (The story of how I procured said furnishings is a very uninteresting and not-at-all embarrassing one to which you will not be privy at this point in time. I will say only that it involved a dragonbat, many irate gnomes, and much fretting and possibly crying on my part.) On the rare days that the sun breaks through the thick cloud cover, it directly illuminates the desk at which I read and write. Today happens to be one of those days. I wish you could visit me, as I can think of no one else who would appreciate my decorating skills so much as you, but that would also be not very good, I think.

I have much more to tell you about my apartment and my neighbors, but after having hiked inland today with Azra the Death Boy, I am very tired and intend to sleep through at least half of tomorrow. I hope you will write back to me soon! You must tell me everything about grades ten through twelve, since they are the stuff of coming-of-age novels and I will not be able to confirm that reputation for myself.

With love,

May 2015

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