[A letter, black ink etched into pristine white paper, attached to a plain black box--secured as tight as can be so as to keep the contents within safe--arrives. Should the letter be opened and read, the contents would read as such: Dear sister,
I am writing this letter (or rather a note) to you because I am sending with it, several desserts of my own making. Ones of the very sorts that have gained your favour. Or so I would hope. I realize that we now hold a more immediate means of contact within our claws. That perhaps contact in such a way is somewhat “outdated”–a thing steeped in days of old–but there is something enjoyable about the action of writing letters. Warming. Closer.
More personalized in the lack of congruency from one letter to another. The handwriting. The paper on which it’s etched. The creases from its folding. I have collected a few from father by now and it is… nice to have a physical reminder of the sentiments, thoughts, moments held.
(I apologize for my handwriting by the way. I know that it is quite… bad, but such a thing is not changed so easily I am afraid. The only way through is by practice and so, practice I shall.)
In any case, I thought that a letter would be better suited for what it accompanies.
Tarts. Ones filled with fruits and of low sugar content, against my own penchant in the (perhaps; by the standard of the common bug) excessive consumption of sugar. Within this, there are several variations (with 4 of each type) on the fillings: mango; cherry; mixed berry (blueberries, strawberries, raspberries).
Consume at your own leisure. Time is something to be had in abundance for I have placed a spell upon the tarts so as to not only preserve their physical integrity, but to ensure that they do not spoil very quickly. If there is a slight taste of Soul to the tarts, then I apologize. This is exactly why. It is simply how the spell is.
All the same,
May you find as much enjoyment in consuming these as I did in creating them.
Kind Regards,
Holly
P.S. If you dislike the tarts, then simply discard them and let me know what displeases you so about them. It will be of no bother to me. And in any case, I would rather come to know about potential failings so that I may improve from them. ]
@impure-vessel-official
< It is quiet, and dark, when clawed hands finally lift the letter from its attachment on the package, unrolling the paper, eyes scanning the page. >
< Handwriting. Messy, but legible. A clear sign of care. Eyes shift to the package. >
< A creation. Made with the intent of consumption. >
< A claw reaches out- for a red one, of course- and brings it up to scrutinizing eyes, chelicerae extending to scoop a little bit the pastry into the mouth, nibbling at it. >
< A beat passes. >
< Two. >
...Ah.
< It tastes like home. >
< The taste of SOUL, the taste of memories- once thought unsavory, but now? Something deeply wanted. >
< The tart is quickly finished, and claws brush crumbs off of palms, rummaging inside the desk to produce a fresh roll of paper and a pen. >
< Writing utensil drags across white surface. >
< This continues, until well into the day. >
