11. Clem September 3, 1888
Dearest Mother,
Do not worry yourself. The cuts are minor.
As the needles lifted, they made a figure in the air: a swan with wings outstretched.
The cisne. Its signature couldn’t have been clearer.
Warning me away. I’m certain this is ordinary intimidation, not something more informed.
If they knew about you, then Throckmorton would know, too.
No, it is mere bullying for being an outsider.
But it wasn’t the only warning I received.
Before the swan took shape, I felt an inner pressure, a surge of fear, that I might have mistaken for my own instincts if I ever had such instincts.
I don’t—my fears feel quite different. Earlier in the day I felt something similar, in my Medical Enchantment class, moments before Simeon appeared in the doorway.
I believe it must be Father, urging caution upon me from the spirit realm.
Who else would understand the danger? Who else would care to warn me?
It reminded me painfully of an argument we had, some months before he died, when I told him my intention of attending Commonwealth.
He was desperate with worry, so desperate that it made him furious.
“They are villains, Clem,” he shouted, “consummate villains!” I argued with him that not everyone at Commonwealth was a cisne, that not all of them were villains, and that the learning of enchantment was worth the risk.
He couldn’t see it—wouldn’t see it. He was shaking—with fear, I think, not rage—and I felt terrible.
Now he is warning me again. I hate to think of the worry I cause him, even now. When he should be resting.
But it can’t be helped. Neither warning can be heeded. Our plans continue.
All my love,
Clem