To My Darling Chrysanthemum,

[Axelu 4333]

Music

Spoiler

 

 

A letter was delivered to the Imperial residence of the Majordomo by some young mademoiselle of flaxen hair and ditzy disposition, pristinely packaged into an ashen envelope and branded with the scarlet emblem of the House Carrion-Tuvyic.

 

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To My Darling Chrysanthemum, 

Milena Ipera, 

 

Today, I had the pleasure of observing yet another spell of heaven’s weeping that thrashed down upon our comely Dobrov from my balcony in the Kremlin Anavet. As I grow more congested by the hour and must confine myself, verily, I have been able to find the silver lining: upon the following morning, it is of routine importance to note that the viridescent foliage has grown brighter, the grain more abundant, and the townsfolk livelier. 

 

In life, when we plant seeds for fruit and reap raisins, we must respond unabashedly and with pride for if we grow languid and undetermined, the next opportunity may very well pass us by. Should one plow the soil meticulously by any means necessary, or in your case attune the talents which you already hold by hereditary right, there is no reason for the subjects of your devotion and admiration to not bear fruit. 

 

My Chrysanthemum dear, do not weep or grieve. Your fate, at the end of the day, lies in your hands and your hands alone - it is you who has the capacity to fortify it and let it flourish should you surround it with proper soils (you need only look at your namesake for insight). 

 

I ask you to recall, daughter mine, your worth. It is not made by the roles and suitors that you have garnered but rather what choices you elect to take for yourself. Your life is at a crossroads - and you aren’t alone in these circumstances - so what path, with your experiences and laments in mind, will you proceed on?

 

You are, my darling, the composer of not only your future but that of Orenia, in the most profound sense and the most miniscule (That is to you, nevertheless). Behold what is yours and claim it.

 

With that said, I leave you with an except from a sonnet - written once by a favored poet of mine who bears a great deal of talent:

 

“Betwixt endless pristine column

In the jewel of Oren,

A ballerina pranced

Reveling in the joy of her dance 

For the hall was empty,

And that was company plenty.“ 

 

With high hopes and a full heart,

Mama