Dear R
~
Dare number two has been conquered, though I use that term quite generously considering the minor disasters that accompanied my efforts. Yes. I have successfully explored somewhere new and brought back evidence.
What, you may ask, was the crowning triumph of my grand exploration?
The thrilling destination revealed at the end of my daring adventure?
The kitchens. Yes, R, the kitchens. I can practically see you laughing already—trust me to find the most domestic possible interpretation of ‘explore somewhere new.’
But, in my defense, this particular kitchen belongs to an intimidatingly grand residence where I’m currently a guest, and navigating its maze of copper pots and intriguing enchanted implements (never mind actually finding my way there in the first place) felt like quite the accomplishment.
The staff regarded me with polite bewilderment.
A lady? In their domain? Preposterous! But somehow I managed to convince them to tolerate my presence.
Though I suspect my future with decorative piping has been permanently terminated after the mess I made.
(See my opening statement about ‘minor disasters.’)
But it was … lovely, actually. For a short while, I almost felt as though I were back home, safe from all the expectations of polite society.
Certainly more at ease than I’ve been in any of the beautifully appointed drawing rooms and salons where I’m supposed to belong here.
I can only imagine the horror on my hosts’ faces if they discovered I prefer their kitchen to their meticulously decorated reception rooms.
Oh! And I’ve discovered the music room. Well, one of what I suspect are multiple music rooms in this absurdly vast place, but this particular one might be the coziest I’ve ever encountered.
I thought nothing could rival my beloved pianoforte at home, but I fear it shall be devastatingly jealous when I confess to the passionate affair I’ve begun with an absolutely magnificent elderfae instrument here.
So that’s three sanctuaries now: the kitchen, the music room, and that rooftop terrace where I became far too intimately acquainted with a flowerbed.
Three perfectly acceptable hiding places, none of which feature ever-blooming roses and their perpetual judgment.
(Though between you and me, I’m beginning to miss their predictable disapproval.)
There. Two dares completed from your outrageous list. Likely the only two I can manage without causing irreparable damage to my reputation.
Though I suppose dare number five wouldn’t be entirely impossible …
And number seven, while likely challenging to accomplish, does have a certain noble quality to it.
Yours in (very cautious) adventure,
L
P.S. What evidence of this exploration did I bring back, you may wonder?
Honey. On my fingers. And since you were not here to assist with the situation as you so scandalously offered after my last honey-related incident, I had to manage the cleanup myself.
(And yes, I am absolutely determined that this time it shall be YOU who blushes.)
Dearest L,
Forgive me. I need a moment. Several moments. I’ve had to read your letter multiple times to confirm my eyes weren’t deceiving me, and I’m still not entirely convinced I haven’t conjured the whole thing from my fevered imagination.
Did my shy, careful, ever-proper L really just write something so deliciously bold? About honey? And fingers? And a reference to my ever so improper offer to …
Has someone perhaps stolen your letter box? Are you writing under duress? Is this an elaborate prank orchestrated by those judgmental roses of yours?
But no, it has to be you. Only you would consider a kitchen, a music room, and a garden the triumphant spoils of exploration. Only you would befriend the kitchen staff as a strategic social escape route.
I am inordinately proud of you, L. You explored! You ventured into the unfamiliar and discovered that it wasn’t quite as terrifying as you feared. Though I notice you’ve essentially found three new places to hide, which is both progress and perfectly, wonderfully you.
Nevertheless, I am unspeakably glad you have found small corners in which to breathe in this new and ‘absurdly vast’ setting you find yourself in. And as for your hosts’ imagined horror, you might be pleasantly surprised to discover that they understand more than you think.
But L—and this is crucial—a beloved pianoforte?
You’ve been holding out on me! All this time we’ve been corresponding and you’ve never once mentioned this apparently significant instrument in your life.
I do hope you’ve at least told this pianoforte about me.
Introduced us properly in conversation. “Dearest pianoforte, allow me to tell you about my mysterious correspondent who sends me outrageous dares …”
When you break the news about your torrid affair with the elderfae instrument, please convey my sympathies to your pianoforte. I suspect I understand its forthcoming jealousy all too well.
Thoroughly enchanted by your newfound boldness,
R
P.S. You more than succeeded with that comment. I am blushing. Everywhere.
P.P.S. Are you telling me that if I WERE there, you would you have let me?