Amelia Susan Bones

The package was delivered promptly at the time when Micah spent his lunch in the Great Hall. It was simply wrapped in brown paper with a thin bow to hold it together and only noticeable that the parcel belonged to him with a discrete “To Micah” written on a loose piece of parchment. As ribbon was pulled undone, the package exploded sending confetti in every direction while a single tiny enchanted trumpet rose from the box to play a happy birthday tune. Once the confetti cleared, there was a note at the top of the box that read

What’s a birthday without a bit of embarrassment?

Micah,

Sixteen. Merlin you’re getting old. You’ll be in a home for the elderly before we know it. I know birthdays aren’t a big deal to you, but I’ll never miss an opportunity to give you something. I could drone on and on about how wonderful I think you are regardless if you believe me or not, but I’d be surprised if you’re even still reading this. Happy Birthday baby brother. I love you.

-Melia.

Wrapped in a thin sheet of tissue was a plain book that when opened revealed itself to be a scrap book of sorts. It’s pages were full of photos of them as children until now, photos of “sad things on the streets” as Micah referred to them; photos of ridiculous things the two came across on their gloomy day walks. Some pages were even notes the two had passed in the great hall as Amelia begged him to write her essays which he avidly refused. The book has started out neatly, though with each page seemed to become cluttered, a sign of Amelia’s impatience and need to fit in every article she’d gathered. Underneath that book was another unmarked book, with another note.

Here’s a book you might actually appreciate. Saw you looking at it in a book shop over the holiday. I may or may not have already read it and marked my favorites.

  P.S. Clear some room next to Goodnight Moon.