Abbie Dreamer

It was thanks to this comfortable lifestyle and steady income that Ambrose was able to open the doors of her home to her niece: Marielle Castor. Ambrose was the one who pitched the idea to Brielle, as she and their whole Venterre town knew that Marielle’s dreams of becoming a renowned bard couldn’t be fulfilled if she chose to stay home. Though they were hesitant at first, Brielle and Marion allowed Marielle to leave for Vesuvia. It was here that Marielle now lived and breathed, and her bubbly being fit right in with the bustle of Vesuvia. When she was home, Marielle helped manage the shop and keep everything tidy. Marielle ran errands for herself and Ambrose, and even helped the neighbors out with theirs. When she wasn’t home, Marielle was out on the town busking and performing wherever she was allowed to. 

Her debut a few years ago at the masquerade caused a stir in the musical scene of Vesuvia, and Ambrose couldn’t be prouder. Slowly but surely, Marielle and her music were becoming known in Vesuvia. Life was a perfect dream unfurling–especially for Ambrose, who got a front row seat to it all.

From her chosen seat in the shop proper, surrounded by magical components in their organized compartments, Ambrose watched the front door swing open to reveal a worn but beaming Marielle. Her signature lyre was held in one hand, an apple in the other as she made her way inside. The golden ropes hanging from her waist adorned with a few dangling coins jingled with joy atop her whole royal purple skirt swaying with the motion of Marielle skipping over to Ambrose. 

“Aunt Ambrose! Guess who I met today~” Marielle settled on the chair beside Ambrose, resting her lyre in her lap as she took a bite out of her apple. 

Ambrose smiled fondly, taking a sip of her tea as she pondered. “Hm, who? Was it that noble lady who kept asking where you got your clothes from? You better have told her that I helped you make them!”

“Haha, no!” A part of Marielle was glad that she hadn’t seen the noble lady since her last show in Goldgrave. She’d never hear the end of it then. “Guess again!” “Did you finally say hi to the baker Selasi and thank him for the pumpkin bread?” 

Marielle gave a guilty chuckle as she shook her head. Before Ambrose could scold her about it, she quickly asked, “Any other guesses?” 

“Hmmm…” Ambrose once again lifted her mug to her lips, taking a drawn out sip of her lavender tea as she pondered. “If it’s not that noble lady from last week, the baker Selasi, or some other ‘magician’ wanting to whisk you away from me again, then I’m afraid I’m all out of guesses. Who did you meet today, Marielle?”

Marielle grinned. “Asra! His name is Asra, and he’s apparently been wanting to meet me for the last few years after meeting me at the masquerade.” “Oh?” Ambrose raised a brow, her curiosity piqued. “Now, now, that sounds like a story waiting to be told! Firstly, though, dear songbird, we have to set the stage…” Ambrose fished out another mug from the space under the coffee table, waving her hand to both conjure water in the mug and set it to boil in the same magical movement. She opened the box of teas kept atop the tray she carried down from the kitchenette upstairs and held it out to Marielle. “Which would you like?” Her niece swallowed the next bite of her apple as she looked over the assortment of teas before curiously glancing over to Ambrose’s mug. “Which are you having?” “Lavender.”

“Then I’ll have the same!” Marielle fished out the other lavender tea packet, plopping it into the mug set aside for her and letting it steep as they settled into their blanket-covered chairs, growing comfortable once more.

“So, this ‘Asra…’ The masquerade is when he first saw you?”

“Yes, yes! He was selling these wonderful wooden masks behind our shop during the masquerade when I debuted as a bard, but I was taking a break then.” Marielle thought back to the dizzying night of revelry that surrounded her debut performance years ago. She had been hired as one of the musicians, and borrowed her aunt’s snake-themed outfit for the night. As she had just arrived in Vesuvia, she did not have the time to make her own costume. Her aunt’s costume fit her relatively well, the bagginess of it only giving her more freedom to move. The flow of the fabric helped to elevate the visuals of her flowing movement, so how could she be upset at how big it was on her? 

“I was looking over the multitude of masks and conversing with him and his snake familiar who adored me as one of her own. Suddenly, there was the sound of flutes all playing to the thundering rhythm of feet moving in unison… None of the other musicians were playing a welcoming tune for the masquerade, shunned to silence by the deafening thunder of footsteps. Those guiding the way to the palace and the outside attractions were astounded at the sounds too. It clearly wasn’t part of the masquerade. The sounds of flutes and footsteps grew louder and louder. The crowds grew thicker as they were forced back to the sidelines of the streets. I was crowded into this magician’s booth as we realized… There was a visitor. An unexpected one. We only caught a glimpse of her from where we were, but it was the youngest Prakran princess: Princess Nadia Satrinava. Do you remember that night, Aunt Ambrose?”

With Marielle’s signature storytelling description, how could she forget? While she was at home for the masquerade’s opening night, it only meant that she had a vantage point to view the grand procession from their balcony on the second floor. She remembered the curious murmurs, the beauty of the Prakran procession, the princess of her homeland as she rode into Vesuvia’s revelry, and the awe that rippled through the crowd as the princess passed by. Princess Nadia would eventually marry their Count Lucio and has been reigning as Countess since. 

Seems that one fateful night brought change for plenty of Vesuvians.

“Of course I do,” Ambrose nodded. She took another sip of tea to silence herself so Marielle could continue her story. Tea time was for spilling the tea, after all.

“That night was our first encounter. We barely exchanged names before I was called back to post. With my break time over, I was lost to the crowd, once again playing music to the delight of all on their way to the masquerade. Apparently, Asra would spend the next few months looking for me, but to no avail. I just seemed out of reach, always performing in a different corner of Vesuvia. He heard the music I played, but I… I was elusive.

“One year after the other, he would see me at the Masquerade. I would always be playing something, singing something, but he was never able to get too close. These last few months, he was able to inch towards me in his relentless pursuit. He caught more glimpses of me in the marketplace, in the town square, around the theatre… Always singing, like a siren that would draw him in, but the tide would whisk my visage away before he was able to jump into the water. Then came today, when he was able to track me down.”

Marielle paused to take the first sip of her lavender tea, enjoying its floral fragrance and sweetness. At the same time, she took another bite of her apple as she pulled the next part of her story to the front of her mind. “Well… I was watering the plants on our balcony this morning, and as I do, I sang a little song to the plants like I would back in Venterre to help them grow. This dashing, white haired magician happened to be on a walk to the marketplace when he heard me singing. Taking advantage of the quiet morning streets, he followed the sound of my voice to find me here. He had finally found his siren in the water, and invited me to join him for a walk around the marketplace. As I just finished my chores, of course I joined him.”

“Ah, so you were in the marketplace, but didn’t say hi to Selasi?” Ambrose playfully tut-tut-ed her disappointment. “Did Asra at least treat you to something?”

Marielle nodded, pointing to the apple that was now half-eaten thanks to her most current bite. “He exchanged a fortune for a few apples. I got one, and the rest he’s taking home to share with his friend named Muriel.”

“Oh? He knows magic as well?” That was certainly a twist Ambrose wasn’t expecting. It was a welcome one, though. There weren’t a lot of young magicians in Center City; there were just a plentitude of old crones looking to make a quick coin off of naive passers-by by telling them sweet nothings. “Is he any good?”

“He is! He painted his tarot card deck himself, inspired by this book on tarot that his parents wrote together! The cards are gorgeous, Aunt Ambrose. And there was a strong magical aura about him, too. Watching him give a fortune was like watching your readings–the cards seemed to speak directly to the vendor.”

“Well, well, well. Seems I have a contender on the block.” An amused smile formed on Ambrose’s lips as she leaned back in her chair. “You should bring him around, Marielle. I’d like to see what he’s made of.”

“I will! I’m sure you’ll like him too, Aunt Ambrose~” They smiled, excitement stirring the air between them once more at the prospect of this new visitor to the magic shop.

Ambrose swirled her mug, observing the levels of tea that remained within it. “Well, I’ve still got tea to go around… What else has my songbird up to today?”

They filled the rest of the afternoon in the magic shop by swapping stories of the day’s encounters and excitements. Stories and gossip over tea was a staple in their routine, and one carried through the years that Marielle lived with Ambrose. When Marielle’s newfound friend Asra was introduced to the mix, he joined the fray with fragrant teas and fascinating stories of his own. He was the honey added into their mugs that dissolved and integrated perfectly with the warmth of the shop. Asra found his place amongst the two magicians, and it was like he was there all along, providing an additional sweetness that complimented the fragrance of the shop’s tea.

Thanks to the three of them, the collection of the magic shop was always full. Whether it be herbs, crystals, trinkets, teas, songs, or stories, this building had it all.

Life was a perfect dream unfurling–especially for Ambrose, who got a front row seat to it all. Once again, she saw the growth of dreams now seemingly within reach; the growth of Marielle as a musician, magician, and a young woman; and now, the growth of two new things as the years once again slipped by. The first one was the growth of Marielle and Asra’s relationship. They grew closer, lives and hearts spilling into each other irrevocably, as how steeped packets permanently turn water into fragrant tea. They seemed inseparable these days. Marielle seemed to wait around the shop longer for Asra’s inevitable visits. He lingered longer, staying later, and always hesitated to say goodbye at the end of the day.

Fledgelings needed a push to learn to fly, and Ambrose was the one giving the lovebirds the nudge they needed to be together. 

She was the one responsible for encouraging Asra to move into the shop with Marielle, after all.

The second new thing growing was Ambrose’s wanderlust. Ambrose thought that plant in her life had withered long ago with the opening of her magic shop, where she finally decided to plant her roots. Apparently that wanderlust was a beast of its own. Maybe it was more akin to say that her spirit was a caged up bird. It was content to stay still for a while, but it once knew what the wind under its wings felt like. No cage would allow it to soar the same way it would under the open sky.

Therefore, it wanted out. Her spirit wanted to fly, to stretch its wings, to soar again—even if for a little while.

Ambrose couldn’t help but wonder if her twin sister Brielle ever felt the same way. 

Would she fly again, if given the opportunity?

In preparation of her return as an international adventurer (under the guise of getting new materials for the shop), Ambrose entrusted the magic shop to her dear Marielle. Marielle would become responsible for maintaining and running the shop while Ambrose was out. She was a young woman of her caliber: passionate, organized, knowledgeable, magically talented, and lovely. If there was anyone she could trust to run the shop, it was Marielle.

Of course, Ambrose would still return to stay and run the shop for a while… But it was likely that she would go on another adventure soon after. Who’s to say when her wanderlust would settle down again?

Ambrose welcomed her wanderlust as an old friend who helped her pack her bags for travel once more. Her pack was soon filled with coin for the road, her trusty map, a travel journal, a bedroll, food, camping materials, her own tarot deck, a pouch of magical supplies, clothes, and letter writing materials… sort of. Of all the items Ambrose struggled to find, her letter writing set went from her least to her biggest worry. She probably misplaced it in the mess of the room. It didn’t help that Marielle was also living here: the number of books and magical and crafty projects had increased exponentially as both magicians explored different hobbies together. 

Ambrose started digging through her storage boxes, taking the time to put away some of her crafts, bags, and handmade travel cloaks to open more space for her search. One box contained her sewing kit, another held seeds for the balcony’s herbs and flowers, a third held different currencies from places like Nevivon and Firent (should she grab some to take with her?), and another still…

… old letters between her and Brielle stuffed this box to the brim. It was a wonder the box was able to close with how many papers were inside it.

Deciding that she wasn’t in any rush to leave, Ambrose took the time to peruse her old correspondence with her twin sister. They were dated back at least a decade ago. The further she dug, the further back the letters were dated. Save for the several month pause in their letters, the dates written on them also became closer and closer together the further back she looked. Ambrose wondered what events lay in these pages that warranted the constant updates from Brielle. She flipped one of the folded papers open.

Ambrose,

It’s almost tiring how hard it is to try these days… Magical and folk remedies aside, we still have no fruit to show for our efforts.

Is there something I’ve forgotten? We can’t possibly be barren. I can’t possibly be barren. Not after the miscarriage… Not after the loss of our first fledgeling…

Please, respond as soon as you can, Ambrose. I need you.

Brielle

… Oh. Ambrose almost forgot about those days. Brielle couldn’t even manage a proper closing back then. The grief of losing a child… possible children… was too much for her.

She opened another letter.

Ambrose,

Finch passed through, asking around town for you by name. What happened? Weren’t you two happy to travel together?

I know it’s in our nature to seize opportunities as they come and to leave when they pass us by, but please, hold on to this one. Finch is a wonderful man, and we know it. Don’t let him be just another story in our wonderful lives full of them.

Mistakes aren’t fatal if you own up to them and face them head on.

He’s here waiting in Venterre. He wants to see you. 

I want to see you, sister.

Is it really true? What you told me in your last letter? Don’t make me get out there and find you myself. You’re hiding something miraculous from me. Don’t hide the joy–the miracle–that Marion and I could only dream of.

Brielle

Finch, the wonderful bard friend of both her and Brielle. They met on the road when the twins were still together, traveling as one unit. Finch was a dear friend… and her first love. Ambrose felt a pang of guilt for how soon she left Finch in Nevivon. Maybe it was too soon…

Finch was wonderful, but Ambrose..?

Ambrose,

Marion had an idea, if you are willing to stay a while in Venterre. 

You could stay here with us and in a comfortable town. We have a spare room that’s always open to you. In fact, I just finished preparing it for you. It’ll be just like our childhood in the Pearl Isles. We can have a sleepover–just the two of us–just like the old days. We can stay up and tell stories… practice spells… sneak snacks in the cover of darkness… Marion doesn’t have to know where all the mangos and sweets went. It can just be us again. Or maybe we include Marion. Maybe he also snacks with us and helps us keep the candles burning until dawn. Whatever you want, Ambrose.

Just… Let us help you through your pregnancy, Ambrose. It’ll be hard and long, but it will be worth all the struggle. You can have your own little bundle of joy after all is said and done. And you of all people should know that you don’t have to go through anything alone. Especially not this. You’ll always have me, your dear sister, by your side no matter what. 

You shouldn’t have to face this solo.

If things turn out bad and the baby doesn’t make it… like all of ours… I want to be there with you.

The pain of a lost child is something no woman should ever go through.

But if for once, everything goes well… That will be another miracle we can write home about, maybe it’ll get our parents (and especially grandparents) off our backs about continuing our “magical heritage.” If everything goes well, maybe you can have your own songbird that’s just like Finch.

And maybe, when Finch is done in Prakra (he said he wouldn’t be there long, just long enough to say hi to our family (Yes, he wants to meet our family)), he’ll find his way back here. And maybe you two can fix whatever caused this rift between the two of you.

Being married isn’t like being caged or tethered, Ambrose. It’s the greatest choice of freedom you can make. To be able to choose to love someone for the rest of your life, to lay yourself aside and choose them no matter what and have them choose you in spite of everything… It’s a blessing. I see that desire in you, a desire to love and be loved. And Finch… He speaks so highly of you, so dearly about you. He does love you, Ambrose. And I know you love him too. Otherwise, you wouldn’t keep asking about him in every other letter you send.

It’s not easy, but it’s worth it. Just like… How carrying this precious child will be.

So let us help you. Come by, Ambrose, please. If not to stay, then to at least say hi and let me see in person how my beloved sister is doing.

I love you, Ambrose.

Brielle

… The half a year pause in their correspondence filled in the gap of memories that Ambrose suppressed. The explanation of those days’ events was right here in this letter she held in her hands.

The six (or so) months that Ambrose spent in Venterre with her sister and her brother-in-law were the quietest days of Ambrose’s adult life. The days were slow, peaceful even, as she absorbed the sunlight that sustained the Castor’s fields. Maybe Ambrose became a plant those days too: rooted and sustained by the warmth of the sun.

Those days, Ambrose learned what it meant to settle down as she became a part of Brielle and Marion’s domestic routines. Everything in that house was done with someone else in mind: Brielle cooked for Marion and Ambrose; Marion worked the field, did carpentry jobs around town, and even brought home food for Ambrose and Brielle; Ambrose did her best to smile, to stay alive, and to flourish for the sake of her sister… And for the sake of the little one growing inside of her.

Maybe this was the love Brielle was talking about. The pure, selfless kind.

Those days, Ambrose let the romantic inside of her wonder about Finch. She wondered if he had new songs and new stories to share from their time apart. She wondered if he would be as willing to settle down with her as she was starting to be. Maybe, just maybe… He traveled to see their family in the Pearl Isles to ask for her parents’ permission for her hand.

What a day that would be, to be courted by the bard who had her heart. Those daydreams were still fond wishes of hers…

Ambrose remembered the struggles of labor in the deep hours of twilight, ending as the sky turned to the familiar shades of purple (the same lilac and lavender from when she started), now illuminated by the dawning light. The sun was one of the first to greet her bundle of joy, who opened her eyes to greet the sun after her initial greeting of tears.

Her child–no, her daughter–had the same twilight eyes of the twins with flickers of pink that shone with love yet to be shared. Her warm hickory brown hair, almost reminiscent of the feathers that adorned her first love’s namesake, had wisps of gold. The same gold that hung from her shoulders in loose waves. The same gold that was held in a messy bun atop her sister’s hair. 

Ambrose met her sister’s eyes with a tired, shaky smile. Tears streamed down her face as she held her newborn, but they were mere droplets compared to the waterfall that graced Brielle’s cheeks. Even Marion–renowned for his stoic demeanor–was crying with a smile that echoed her own.

(Huh, the twins had the same taste in men, it seemed. His smile was the same as Finch’s)

“Oh, Ambrose, she’s beautiful!” Brielle cried, adoring the newborn and holding Ambrose so, so close. “She’s perfect! An absolute miracle! Oh, I’m so, so happy for you..!”

The one thing that her sister Brielle had wanted for so long… a child… and here Ambrose was holding one with her sister.

And she loved her. In spite of how much it pained her, she loved her.

… Ambrose knew what she had to do. For her loved one.

“What!? A-Ambrose, are you sure?”

There was no pain, no regret in Ambrose’s eyes as she smiled at Brielle. She took in the sight before her: her twin sister, golden hair in a messy bun, eyes puffy from the tears of the early morning, stood beside her strong husband who held her close by the waist with one hand, the other hand hesitating to reach out for Ambrose in solid questioning, as his earthy hair was in a messy ponytail of its own. 

In Brielle’s arms was the bundle of joy: a little songbird, sound asleep.

The three of them looked like the perfect family. Maybe it helped that Ambrose and Brielle had similar tastes in men… It helped for the one thing that Brielle wanted so badly, and in spite of everything, Ambrose loved her sister more than life itself.

No passerby would think that Marielle didn’t belong to Marion and Brielle.

“I’m sure.” Ambrose nodded, securing the strap of her bag on her shoulder. “You know what our parents always said, Brie: I always make messes–”

“And I always stayed to clean them up,” Brielle finished. “But–But Ambrose, this child isn’t your mess–”

“She’s the result of one. A mess so big I can’t possibly waltz up to him and expect everything to be alright… As much as we both want things to be alright… So, please, Brielle…” Ambrose sighed as she rested a hand on her sister’s shoulder, rubbing her thumb across her sister’s skin comfortingly. “Take care of her for me. Please… raise her as your own.”

The hesitation was obvious. How could she just take her sister’s child for her own? But… After almost a year now of trying and failing to conceive with Marion… A child that would be her own, just like this…

“... Okay. Okay, I will.”

Ambrose smiled, letting her hand fall from her sister’s shoulder as she turned to her brother-in-law, patting his arm affectionately. “And take care of Brielle, won’t you?”

“I-I will,” Marion nodded. His brow was furrowed with concern, words refusing to form as he wrestled between his own desire for a child and concern for Ambrose’s decision.

The logical man stayed silent for once, his heart accepting the reality of now having its deepest desire.

Ambrose was almost glad her sister’s grief clouded her thinking. As she started packing the last remnants of her belongings strewn around the Castor’s living room, she thanked the stars for the quiet end of this chapter of her life. It was a blessing to be able to settle down and take life one day at a time. But life had its seasons, and just as birds knew what season it was to migrate, Ambrose knew it was time for her to go. The longer she stayed, the more opportunity there was for Brielle to discover her true motives. If Brielle knew the truth—that she considered her sister’s happiness of greater importance than her own—she would never hear the end of it.

Brielle was too selfless to consider herself… Much like Ambrose.

“What will you do now?” Marion asked, finally finding his voice.

“I’ll go north. Maybe I’ll run into Finch. Maybe we’ll fix things up and… try again. Who knows.”

“When will you leave?”

“As soon as the next merchant caravan passes through.”

“So today…” The Venterre man almost sounded… disappointed. 

“Ah… So today, then.” Ambrose offered an apologetic smile. The ever present look of understanding was there on Brielle’s face as she nodded. They were always ones to seize the opportunity in front of them, and this time was no different.

“Won’t you come back and visit?” Brielle hesitated, the question asked slowly. 

“Of course I will, Brie.” As she finished packing, Ambrose gave her bag a pat of finality. Then, with her hands no longer occupied, she pulled her sister (and the newborn between them) into a hug. Her arms were a comfort around her twin sister’s, holding both of them steady in the tidal wave of changes that they found themselves in. 

For just a moment, they were reminded that they had each other. Twins had a special bond, no? They would always be connected no matter where they are and no matter what happened.

“Before you go, Ambrose… Won’t you name her?” Brielle motioned the child towards her biological mother, with whom her forehead was pressed gently against. The request was enough to make Ambrose pause. Name her..? She hadn’t thought that far ahead. The desperation in her sister’s voice made her stop. She looked over the sleeping child between them. She was so small, so innocent. She had let go of the possibility of being responsible for her, and now, she was being asked to name her as if she was hers…

Maybe this was Brielle’s one final request to keep some memory of Ambrose, her real mom, with them, even if Ambrose herself wouldn’t stay around…

Brielle and Marion… Marion and Brielle, the perfect couple, the perfect parents… Now their names were the foundation for her daughter’s perfect name.

“Marielle,” Ambrose nodded, slowly pulling away. She looked at the family in front of her: Marion, Brielle, and now the newborn Marielle in their arms. Marielle, now the daughter of the perfect union between Marion and Brielle. They could be the perfect parents that Ambrose couldn’t be alone. 

“Name her Marielle.”

Since the magic shop will now be Marielle’s, maybe it’s a good idea to make space for her and remove some of my stuff, Ambrose pondered. She lifted her eyes from the box to look around the room. In the pursuit of her letter writing set, more treasures, blankets, and books have been uncovered and scattered around the bedroom. It was now in desperate need of cleaning.

Ambrose closed the box of letters, once again surprised at how the box was able to close with how many papers were inside it, stuffing it to the brim.

Maybe I’ll take these with me. I could use some reading on the way. I wouldn’t want Marielle to worry about what’s in these either…

She caught me preparing a birthday breakfast feast for Marion last week. As it is still early spring, the sun had not risen yet, so I was using a light spell to illuminate the kitchen while I cooked. (No, of course we don’t have candles anymore after this long winter. You keep the ones in your shop! Someone will want to buy them!) I think this is the first time she’s seen me use something other than green magic (although I was using green magic for Marion’s meal. He’s worked himself to the bone this last week), so curiosity got the best of her as she kept poking at my magical lights and asking questions. I told Marielle that if she helped me prepare the rest of Marion’s meals, I would teach her. She lit up and cooked so fast that we were done much sooner than I thought!

In the time before Marion rose for breakfast, I was able to teach Marielle the same light spell that I used to illuminate the kitchen for the both of us. She caught on quickly–probably too quickly–as her first orb of light blinded me. She was so entranced and excited by that spell that she begged me to teach her more, so I pulled out that dusty book Grandma sent me (you know the one) and we went through the different types of magic together. I did also teach her about the magical ingredients we used in her father’s breakfast.

I am thankful that she is starting to become more aware of her magic now. Do you remember when we found her in the fields as a toddler, flowers magically growing all around her as she tried to use green magic to “make Daddy’s job easier?” Haha, we found flowers in the field for weeks! This time, now that she’s a little older, I’ll be able to teach her properly. I’m sure she’ll find a way to put these spells to good use, especially as she’s started looking after the other kids in town.

She’s a natural born caretaker, I suppose. Marion says she’s really just like me in that way. But I think she takes on after you in this sense; you refused to leave me behind throughout all of our travels. I think Marielle sees the other kids like that too: they’re her kin that she wouldn’t want to leave because what’s ahead is more exciting when they’re together.

Come by soon, Ambrose. With all those tomes you’ve collected, I’m sure you could help Marielle grow more in magic. She’s already gone through half of my collection!

With love,

Brielle

Brielle, 💕

If you end up reading this (I highly doubt it, but we like to be prepared), it’s because I’ve already caught the next merchant caravan on its way back to Vesuvia. I would’ve loved to stay and tell you in person, but you know how it is. We’re not ones to let opportunities pass us by. Just look at how you were with your Marion~ (Speaking of, I hope you two enjoyed your date today~)

Thanks for letting me stay with you in Venterre! I always love dropping by. It has been too long since we had one of these sleepovers, huh? I loved every second with you, with Marion, and with our dear Marielle. She’s growing so quickly, I can hardly keep up.

I’ll get to it, since it’ll be the first thing Marielle will want to tell you about: I took the time today to teach Marielle more spells. We went through Grandma’s magic compendium and I showed her how to form a small fireball (don’t worry, it wasn’t inside the house), a spell for amplifying sound that she can use for her music, a spell for growing flowers (a focused and proper one this time. Not like the one she used as a toddler), and basic illusions. The loud sounds startled Mr. Alder’s chickens, so there might be a few running loose in your fields despite us doing our best to gather them all again. And the new roses in your garden are Marielle’s doing! 

In Grandma’s book was also a folded up paper about a spell to remove rust and polish metal items. I’m not surprised that she managed to combine those two spells that way. I did give it a try with Marielle, so if you find all of the pots and pans out… now you know why~

I think the one that excited her the most was the stillness spell. We applied it directly to the pegs of her lyre so it can stay in tune! She can dismiss the spell whenever she wants to change the tuning of the string to a different key.

You were right when you said she was a wonderful musician like Finch. She even knows his songs like the back of her hand! She ran through his whole repertoire and even had her own songs to spare! Are you still in touch with Finch? I’d reach out, but… you know. Still, I would love to hear from that bard again. I bet he’s making a name for himself somewhere in the world. He told me once that he’d love to see Nevivon or Firent. Last we talked, he was on his way south to the Crab Isles to see if the “crabmen” are really half-crab, half-human.

I know that Marielle has the potential to be just as skilled and famous as Finch–if not more. Should Marielle be hit with our same wanderlust and have the same overflowing passion to tell stories and songs as Finch, maybe I could take her to Vesuvia? It’s a hard ask, but if that day ever arises… Please, let me know. I’ll be sure to keep our songbird safe.

Here’s to you, Marion, and Marielle, dear sister! Thanks again for the wonderful week in Venterre!

With love,

Ambrose

Brielle, 💕

Marielle’s picked up another student for me, it seems. Do you remember the lad Asra? The one that saw Marielle performing on the streets one time, and then he found her on our balcony watering our plants? The one starting to befriend Marielle? While he is shy, Marielle did finally convince him to come by the shop to say hello. He’s a very warm compliment to Marielle’s bubbly personality, and I dare say he’s just as playful and mischievous. He opened up quickly in our magic shop, and we all talked magic for a solid hour or two before he had to rush off. Something about a friend who was waiting for dinner.

Well, it seems the lad is very curious about the many magical materials in the shop. He’s only read about them from a book his parents gave him and hasn’t seen many for himself. Now he too wants to learn more about them. Most of the items are souvenirs from our travels around the world, and he was enamoured by them. Marielle led the tour around our shop, giving her own mini presentations and embellishing our stories of how we got them and where. She really has our Finch’s charm; though I lived through those experiences, I was still captivated by her retellings.

You’d be pleased to know that Marielle’s grown stronger as a magician and a musician. She’s found so many ways to incorporate magic into her performances to dazzle and awe her audiences. Light magic and illusion magic have become staples in her routines. And she’s even managed to have a show or two at the theatre in Goldgrave. They’re coming up this month! You and Marion better find your way up here somehow, I’d hate for you two to miss it!

She’s taken an interest in healing and divination lately too. Might be thanks to that Asra, that book he has, and/or something they get up to together that’s caused a bit of interest in healing. I’ll have to look for some tomes on those topics to add to my collection.

As brief as this letter may be from me, Marielle has more she wants to tell you. I’ll include her letters in this envelope as well.

Do come visit us in Vesuvia someday, Brie. We’d love to have you. I’m sure you’d like Asra as much as I do.

With love,

Ambrose

With a small sigh, Asra slowly refolded the letters in his hands. He was thankful that Ambrose kept every little trinket, tome, letter, and souvenir in this shop. Maybe somewhere in here would be useful in helping Marielle recover and come back to herself. Especially after having to bring her back…

… He never expected that he had to start over from square one with her. And here he was, searching for answers in Marielle and Aunt Ambrose’s possessions for things Marielle used to know.

There was one thing he knew for certain: Marielle knew magic. Magic and music were her two passions in the years that he knew her. He had watched her countless experiments combining the two and their beautiful results. Maybe starting with spells she once knew would help her remember. She could come back to herself… come back to him…

It was worth a shot, right? Maybe they start somewhere familiar with her…

The principles of alchemy yesterday went well, and she received them fairly easily. It didn’t help that he had to re-teach her how to speak, read, and write… but she was catching on. 

The books and papers from his multitude and Aunt Ambrose’s collection were stacked to the ceiling. Dust motes wandered through the air, catching the attention of a familiar pair of lavender eyes that peeked through the piles of books. Her hair, a deep hickory brown hair fading into golden waves, lay as a tangled mess upon her honey shoulders that were exposed due to the extra large shirt she wore. She didn’t bother to fix up her appearance as she slowly approached Asra in the middle of it all.

Though her uncharacteristically silent demeanour pained him, Asra put on a smile that failed to hide the despair in his eyes. He extended a hand to Marielle, beckoning her closer to sit beside him on the couch. His once grace was that she currently couldn’t read him well… or had a way to communicate it.

Her daughter’s laugh was sweet and light as she shook off her mother’s hand. “No, Mom! I want to be a bard! Like your friend who visited here months ago. Do you think I could be like him? Singing songs that make people smile?”

The soft trill of the lyre from Marielle sliding her fingers across the strings stirred Brielle’s memories from a year ago. Her bard friend’s visit “months ago” (with “months” being an understatement) was certainly a momentous occasion for Marielle. It was her first time seeing a skilled performer, and Finch made sure it was more than a show for the entire town. Anyone passing through this region of Venterre would’ve thought their harvest festival came early with how joyful and loud everyone was. He was quick to teach everyone—especially the children—his songs and dances, turning a mundane afternoon into a day of merriment. 

Since then, Marielle’s interest in music was undeniable. Brielle often found her daughter writing poems and singing Finch’s songs around the house and the fields. She kept Finch’s songs and dances alive and well with the other children of the town. Her passion was so infectious that Mr. Alder, their reclusive neighbor, bought Marielle her lyre several months ago. He was the last person Brielle expected to make a direct investment into Marielle’s passions, but they had him to thank for Marielle’s quick mastery of music. 

To sing, play, and also dance simultaneously is no small feat, but these days, it was Marielle’s child’s play. If she wasn’t occupied with anything or anybody, Brielle would enjoy watching Marielle practice in the wheatfields behind their comfortable home. Seeing her sing, moving as gently and elegantly as the grain in the breeze, always brought a smile to Brielle’s face.

“Of course you will, darling. You have such a beautiful voice, and the way you play your lyre… the way you move so freely always makes me want to sing and dance with you~” Brielle hefted her daughter up in her arms as she stood from the blanket-covered couch, swaying and spinning around the living room adorned with handmade blankets and trinkets. All the while, she was rocking her daughter back and forth while singing, “My daughter Marielle will be a beautiful bard~ She’ll sing songs with her lyre, it won’t be that hard! And all will smile and cheer and say: ‘What a wonderful bard! I love hearing her play!’”

“Mom! Put me down!” Marielle laughed, writhing without the serious effort needed to escape her mom’s grasp. “That’s such a silly song!”

Brielle continued doting on her with playful affection, her rhymes and sing-song story starting to get ridiculous as it went on. It was at least three nonsensical verses later that her husband, Marion Castor, entered the room. His earthy brown hair was tied into a neat ponytail, a contrast to his more rugged, button up shirt. The sleeves were rolled up after another day in the field and in town. His belts held the weathered tools of another day of work.

Marion was used to long days getting hard work done in the wheat field and in town, where he did various carpentry jobs for merchants and townsfolk alike. There was always a need for a new bucket, a barrel assembly, a hole that’s too big in a chicken coop, or most commonly, a broken wagon that needs fixing. With all the visitors that sojourned in their Venterre town, someone was going to need a wagon fixed. The work was inevitable, but rewarding—both in satisfaction and in coin.

Slipping his leather gloves off, Marion wiped the sweat off his brow and took in the sight of his two loves in the living room. It was foolish, sure, but Marion himself was a fool for a simple domestic life. His wife and daughter were the stars of his life, the reason he continued to do any tasks in Venterre. Every task was for them and their livelihood.

And speaking of tasks…

“Marielle,” Marion started, breaking the trance of silliness in the room, “are you done with your chores? Jerald is looking for you. You agreed to look after their kids today.”

“That’s right!” Marielle slipped out of Brielle’s hold, straightening her skirt as she stood on her own two feet. “I’m all done with my chores, so I’ll be heading out!”

“You’re sure you tended to the field? No weeds, Marielle?”

“Of course I did! I was out there today, and everything was just fine!” Marielle fished her purple crossbody bag from the many hanging from their coatrack. Just about everything in this house was homemade by someone in the family, and Marielle and Brielle’s collection of bags were no exception. Marielle ensured her necessities were inside her bag, collecting her coin pouch from the table and a few apples for the road before closing it.

“I’ll be back for dinner!” Marielle smiled as she slipped on her shoes. “Don’t start without me!”

“Don’t be late!” Brielle waved her daughter out the door, the curtains fluttering from Marielle’s haste to leave. With the gentle thud of the door closing, Brielle’s attention shifted to her husband who shook his head fondly as he approached her. A firm hand settled on her waist and pulled her in, the other brushed her golden flowing hair out of her face so that Marion could press a kiss directly to her forehead. She melted into the gentle affection, leaning into her husband’s embrace.

“She always seems to be rushing off somewhere,” Marion muttered, clear enough for her ears only.

Brielle chuckled. “She’s got big ambitions, and she won’t stop until they’re hers. Just like you.” She smiled playfully, tousling the bit of his hair within her reach. “You remember how hard you pursued me when Ambrose and I were first in town?”

Almost immediately, Marion’s face turned red at the memories of how quickly he made a fool of himself trying to get Brielle’s attention. He was quite literally tripping over his own feet to talk to her–a stark contrast to his normally aloof and composed appearance. He would often (perhaps too often at first), mix up the identical twins and forget which one he last talked to. Ambrose found it hilarious while Brielle found it more endearing. It was thanks to this one difference between the twins that Marion was able to get close to Brielle and romance her.

Marion cleared his throat, averting his eyes from Brielle’s playful lavender gaze. “I do remember.”

“You know you’d do anything for her, as well as me.”

“I would.”

“I know~”

In just a few hours, “anything” would mean “make Marielle a new lyre.” Marielle had spent the afternoon running around town with Jerald’s kids. Lykos had stolen her lyre as a prank, but in the pursuit, he tripped and broke it. 

Though she could never be upset at the kids, especially over an accident like this, Marielle returned home with tears streaming down her face. She presented the broken pieces of the wooden instrument to her father, who quietly observed the broken pieces as her mother held her songbird in a tight embrace.

Of course the craftsmanship is a little shoddy. They cut a few corners in production… Marion sighed in disappointment as he placed the wooden pieces on the table. He knew Mr. Alder meant well when he bought Marielle that lyre from a traveling merchant, but Mr. Alder didn’t have the same eye for quality that he did; a cheap price would often mean poor craftsmanship, especially for a good like this coming from Vesuvia. Though common knowledge, Mr. Alder probably did not leave the house often enough to realize this.

If his daughter was going to pursue her dreams with the same intensity he pursued Brielle’s heart (his dream), then she only deserved the best instrument to see her through every song and performance. With the settling of his daughter’s tears, Marion was settled on what he needed to do. He rose from his seat and retreated to his workshop behind the house without delay.

Venterre is known for its fine wines and delectable foods, and it has towns like Marielle’s to thank for the slues of supplies. Vesuvia, being Venterre’s closest neighbor, was annually blessed to be the first recipients of Venterre’s harvests.

And this year, like any other, the harvest was set to be plentiful.

The Castor family’s fields were quiet, save for the occasional lowing of the cows providing a melody to the distant chorus of children. The fields were Marielle’s sanctuary–though she would never call it that: “sanctuary” implied that her wonderful hometown was something to hide away from. The fields were simply a place for a much needed break, not an escape.

Why would she want to leave? The people were friendly, warm, and hardworking. They always had a story, a song, or wisdom to share whenever work was done. They looked to Marielle with wonder and awe, especially as she was part of the only magical family in town. Their children are just as friendly–if not rambunctious. Marielle, as the oldest child in the town, loved watching after the multitude of children. When all their chores were done, she would spend time telling them stories, organizing games between all of them, and keeping an eye on the little ones who were too young to be left alone. 

Her heart was with the people here; they truly were one large family.

But her head? Her dreams? They whisked her away here, to the space where her fingertips could freely dance across her lyre. To the space where her voice could be carried by a wind that regarded her and the songbird as one in the same: free to sing, free to live, and free to be carried away from here. 

Chords were struck by calloused fingertips as Marielle settled in the shelter of the trees.

“Maybe someday, maybe someday

I’ll find a way I could get to roam free”

Her lyre was carved from a maple that grew alongside Marielle on the Castor’s land. After an incident with little Lykos that broke her old lyre (a gift from Mr. Alder), her father helped her carve a new one. The joy of its completion overwhelmed Marielle so much that she spent the rest of the day playing music on it–her remaining chores neglected until sundown. But her parents couldn’t be upset: with a passion and a musical talent like Marielle’s, why would they stifle it?

She deserved to grow.

“Or at least maybe someday, maybe someday

I’ll find a way to climb the tallest highest tree”

She deserved to soar.

“That could be me”

But how could she leave the family of her whole hometown? Who would take care of the kids? Who would help her parents with the harvest?

As much as she wanted to be a bard, dreams could wait for now…

… But her whole hometown family thought otherwise.

As Marielle grew, so did her desire for music, for dance, for stories. Her skill, like Venterre’s harvests, were never lacking; she became the one leading the musical celebrations of their festivals. (Especially their harvest festivals, the highlight of every year.) The whole town recognized the talent and wanderlust in Marielle. They saw the song of Marielle as a beacon of a gift, a blessing that they were the first to share as her songs helped breathe life and joy into their town (especially the children). They saw the desires of their fledgeling Marielle to fly, to soar, to go beyond the borders of Venterre. She would sing from the rooftops if that’s what it took for her to succeed.

But like some fledgelings, Marielle needed a little push to learn how to fly.

“Go. Go to Vesuvia. Become the bard you dream of being,” the whole town seemed to cry. “We will be alright. We want to see you grow, succeed, and be the person you dream of becoming.

“You can’t become the bard you dream to be by staying here.”

They encouraged Marielle, just like they would for any of the other children of the town.

So Marielle, though reluctant at first, took the chance to soar.