Dear Charlotte, - the first letter

[Draeris 3124]

 

The Count of Rochefort sat with his legs crossed, gazing vaguely into the direction of the loud gathering of folk in the tavern. The odd windows brought only so much sunlight onto the table: where a letter & fountain pen were neatly placed. One deep sigh and reluctant sip of mead later, his pale fingers would hold his favourite fountain pen, and author what would be the first letter to his beloved.

 

 

 

Adrian Helvets with his dog Castor

 

Dear Charlotte, 

 

The beloved city of Providence towers above me as a wretched reminder of the depths that we have sunken to. I went to this forsaken city today to confront the usurper himself. But alas, my uncle cowered from confrontation on the matter of his familial betrayal.

 

I find myself watched by eyes that bear a soul as barren as the farmlands of the former Curon. By God, do I despise the convenient contempt cast upon me for my name and my origins. A bunch of seedy old hags that impose their tyranny of paranoia and resentment to those that do not fit in with their ridiculously uninspiring worldview. 

 

My Rosy, how much I miss your light in this grotesque tavern. How much I regret my position, that forces you to labour for our sustainability. My son shall look at me and perceive me as a weak man: one that cannot provide for his family like my father did in that wretched Owynsburg of my uncle. I shall find a new purpose in my life and secure a future of our dear Robert. I fear that with all that he has gone through, he shall mentally not survive the cesspit of effeminate sociopaths that will dictate his future. But for as long as I remain restless and without purpose, withering as a dormant instrument in Oren’s abandoned shack: I cannot be strong in a way that our boy needs me to be.

 

Rosy, my dear, I hope you still find understanding in my decision to pursue another career of my own. I toast and pray everyday to the quick accomplishment of my quest, and to the awaited reunion that inevitably follows. But as we do not blame our companions for bad weather, I hope you will not blame me for my predicament. 

 

We are the heirs of the most ancient of vassals: our ancestors clink champagne in the Seven Skies with the likes of Peter Chivay and Richard de Reden. We understood when we held each other's hands at the altar that our beauty as a people and as a couple can enchant as much as it can enrage: for many beneath us find themselves rootless, ordinary and purposeless: inheritors of broken legacies with gravestones that predate the death of our nation.

 

Remind my boy of these facts. Ensure that he understands that the issues we face as a family do not stem from his parents or siblings, but from a profound lack of humanity in this modernist monstrosity of a society. I will return post haste with a purpose, employment and a fine bottle of Brandy.  Keep the door open only a little bit pumpkin: for I will be right behind you, always.

 

Enclosed you shall find a little portrait a dear friend made for me. It was one of papa's outfits. Silly, perhaps. But it serves as a nice reminder of our lives before betrayal. Place it on your nightstand, as it might scare those decrepit bureaucrats away from whatever abode you find yourself settled in. 

 

 

 

Toodles, 

 

 

 

[drowknows 696]

"Pray to God for brother Adrian." young Frederick Oswald Helvets would comment with a frown as he skims through the letter.

[Proddy 2415]

Having come across the letter upon Charlottes bedside whilst chasing down his rambunctious pug Lucky, the infant son of the Count of Rochefort grips the parchment tightly betwixt his little fingers. Staring out the window and onto the courtyard of the Imperial Palace, weeping quietly as he silently hopes his beloved father would walk through the gates one day to meet with him once more.

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

Later in the eventide, as the skies grow dark and the owls hoot, Robert Foltest would drop the letter the lap of his mother as she would tuck into a prestigious meal of beef bourguignon.

 

"Will you write to him?"

 

"Perhaps, my dear boy....for you."

 

"Then you must tell him that I love him, and that I miss him very much."

[Fanasty 240]

The countess of Rochefort put her saucer down on the salon table, taking one last sip out of her cup as she skimmed through the letter swiftly as she sat in the grand salon of the imperial palace "Mm.. Look what he wrote me." Charlotte showed the letter to Minerva de Selm and  yawned "Quite the spectacle.." She rised from her seat, asking a servant to bring the small painting to her chambers before returning her attention on the teea.

[Axelu 4333]

The Dowager Viscountess of Albarosa sent her prayers and well-wishes to the Rochefortes from her lodgings elsewhere, a bittersweet smile on her visage.

[DahStalker 3692]

((Emerentia plans to reach out to the fellow simp for advice.))