#pressed pages

[littleplaguegirl]

Good morning, 

    I realized that I haven’t been inquiring as to your health as I probably should. Forgive me, it has been so long since I have had someone to exchange pleasantries with, I fear I have almost forgotten how to go about it. 

   I hope you will oblige me by answering some of my questions. I understand if you wish to abstain, though, I hope to respect your privacy above all else. 

    Firstly, might I inquire as to where you come from? I know that this may be the question you are least inclined to answer. Please excuse my presumptuousness if that is the case. 

   Secondly, is there anything you need in terms of resources or material? I have plenty to share. Perhaps some herbs from my garden? Although I see you yourself are getting on quite well. Your yarrow is coming in beautifully. 

    Lastly, do you have any family in the area? Perhaps in a neighboring town? I find it odd that a girl as young as yourself has come to live here alone. 

   Thank you for reading my letter, I hope you are faring well and that you are safe. I am always here if you need any form of assistance. 

Sincerely,

-🐉

good morning to you as well, thank you very much for your concern. i promise i am managing well enough, and the herbs and materials i have are sufficient for now. your generosity is… more than i deserve. i will try to answer what i can. i come from a town near the coast. i would rather not say its name. i left because staying there became… too difficult. too lonely. and i thought maybe a place like this would be more... accepting. (it appears as if multiple words have been crossed out) i don’t need any supplies, truly. you have already shared more than i know how to repay. i have no family nearby. i have no family anywhere. it is only me now, and that is alright. i’ve grown used to it. thank you again for thinking of me. i hope you’re keeping warm. — saephie. (it felt strange writing her name)

she eased the letter onto the stoop, then set a small yarrow tincture beside it—flowers and leaves she’d mixed herself. for a moment she hesitated, fingers brushing the bottle, hoping the stranger would take it… and not think her... presumptuous.

[littleplaguegirl]

Hello, 

   It often gets cold here in Oakhurst. I thought I would send you some more items so that you won’t freeze. 

   Do not worry about the gifts from before, the harvest from the orchard was bountiful this year. As for the necklace, it was left to me by my dearly departed grandmother [the handwriting is shaky here]. It pains me too much to look at it, or think of wearing it, so I hoped it may bring you some joy. 

    Please stay safe, and do not hesitate to write me if you are in need of assistance. 

Best regards, 

-🐉

[Contained in the basket is a warm, red wool blanket, an expensive-looking shawl, and a sealed container. Inside of the container is dried jasmine tea. It must have cost quite a bit.] 

saephie stopped in the doorway the moment she saw the basket. her breath caught—too sudden, too sharp—and she stepped toward it like it might vanish if she moved wrong.

she touched the red blanket with just two fingers, then pulled her hand back quickly, guilt flashing across her face. the shawl made her flinch even more; she didn’t dare lift it, only stared at the fine weave like it accused her of touching it.

when she opened the note, her hands trembled. halfway through reading, her shoulders curled inward, chin dipping, as if the kindness in the words weighed heavier than the basket itself. she read the letter twice. maybe three times. each pass made her shoulders hunch more, as if the words themselves carried weight she wasn’t meant to hold.

when she finished, she pressed her lips together in a thin line and folded the letter with careful, almost surgical precision.

“i… i don’t deserve this,” she whispered to no one, voice thin. but she couldn’t make herself push the basket away either.

so she just stood there—tense, small, and unsure—caught between gratitude and the deep, familiar fear that she wasn’t meant to have anything this gentle.

"thank you.."

to the one who sent the basket— (the ink pauses here, like she wasn’t sure if she should start over) i received… your kindness. i don’t know how to say this properly. i’m not very good at— (a line is scratched out lightly, as if she was afraid to press too hard) the blanket, the shawl, the tea… you shouldn’t have. i don’t mean that ungratefully. only… only that i’m not used to people giving me things without wanting something back. so i don’t know what to do with it. with any of it. thank you. i think that’s all i’m meant to say. i just—(another aborted sentence, two words blotted out with a small smear)—the necklace… i will take care of it. i’m sorry it hurts you to part with it. i wish i could— (the sentence trails off; she didn’t finish) please don’t worry about me. i’ll manage. i always have. but… the thought was very kind. more than i know how to hold. — s. (the signature is tiny, almost apologetic. the paper is still warm where her hand trembled.)