A snowy white owl left a letter on Westley Orion’s desk. Rather than flying off after making the delivery, it sat on his windowsill.
The letter was from one Miss Aquaria Macmillan, and read:
Hello Westley.
I hope you are well. While I am one to dance around the subject of most things, I don’t plan on doing so in this letter.
If you could help me with a… project, I would very much appreciate it.
Please send your response to Heline, the owl, and she will give it back to me. Thank you.
A. Macmillan
—@asks-and-magic
Westley finally had a moment to himself. He had tea. He had quiet. He had all his coursework caught up for the week. He had a letter already half-drafted to his mother laid out in front of him on the desk that was going to get sent off before the day was over.
For the first time in months, Westley was going to have a free weekend.
Then, the owl came. An envelope dropped onto his desk, adorned with his name in an elegant script he didn't recognize. Westley stared for a moment, debating very, very hard whether he should open it. He glanced up at the accompanying owl perched in the window, wide eyes unblinking as it stared him down.
"Not an option, evidently," he muttered, popping the seal and reading over the letter. And then reading it again. Westley brought his eyes back to the owl.
"I should say no. You know that, don't you? I'm allowed to do that." The owl continued to eye him.
"Yes, yes. You're only the messenger." Westley rolled his eyes, propping his chin in his hand and glimpsing over the parchment once more. "I am allowed to," he mumbled, grabbing a paper and quill.
Miss Macmillan, I'm doing well, thank you. I hope this also finds you well. I can't promise I will actually be able to provide what you need, but I can try. How can I be of service? Westley Orion
The owl chirped, finally blinking as Westley passed the envelope to her.
"Oh, stuff it, Heline," he grumbled and handed her a treat before she set back off.
