@slate-skylar
Slate,
Meet me in the Capitol Gardens when no one is looking, make sure you are not followed. I will be at the west end, near the arch covered in ivy.
-FS
The note, a product of her disdain for the simplicity that accompanied every new entry, left her yearning for a more revealing composition. She longed to share more about herself, to provide him with a glimpse of who she truly was through her words. However, the risk of exposing her connection to the rebel victor to the prying eyes of the Capitol hindered her from doing so. To maintain the freedom to forge her own allegiance and carve her unique path, secrecy must be used, a vital safeguard for the life she meticulously constructed over the past few years.
After numerous attempts, a discarded pile of crumpled papers in a nearby garbage can bore witness to her struggle. Eventually, she settled on a note, placing it delicately into a black envelope. Including her discovered photo of Beryl and a seal of ornate wax, she entrusted the message to a loyal member of her household staff. Crossing her fingers, she hoped the photo would compel Slate to reveal himself in the gardens of the Capitol.
The wind's embrace prompted her to tighten her shawl around her shoulders as she waited in the chilly night. Concealed in the shadows of the arch, her dark attire seamlessly blended with the nocturnal darkness. Anxiety coursed through her as time ticked away. The possibility that Slate might choose not to meet, driven by fear of potential revelations, hung heavily in the air. Even if he did appear, comfort eluded her, for in either scenario, a life-altering shift loomed on the horizon.
Nearly an hour elapsed before the calculated cadence of footsteps reached her ears, signaling the arrival of the sought-after figure. Peeking from the side of the arch, her dark eyes surveyed the silhouette before her. "Slate?" The unfamiliar name felt peculiar on her tongue, seldom uttered aloud. "Slate Skylar?"