#c:nathaniel

Nathaniel, 

I hope you do not mind me writing to you. I realise this letter will not be expected, and simply comes from my own boredom. 

That sounds a lot less complimentary than I meant it. I simply mean to say that I have more free time on my hands than ever before, and when I put pen to paper, it was you the letter was for. 

I don’t know why this feels so embarrassing.

I hope that you are as well as can be. I understand things in London have calmed somewhat since the problems of the new year, and for that, I am grateful. It is comforting to think that I am coming back to a better city that the one I left. 

I am in Paris at the moment. It is night time, and I am sitting on my balcony. The stars are above me, and the river flows below. I can see the lights of the city gleaming on the water. It is a beautiful sight, and one I think you could put into words far better than I ever could. I’ve never been much of a writer. 

I have a book of your poems with me. It was one of the few books I brought with me. On nights like this, when I cannot sleep, they have brought me much comfort, which seems strange to say. I know the topics of your work are not always the most pleasant, but that works of beauty may come from them certainly does help when one is facing their own difficulties. I am writing to thank you for that. 

This letter more than likely makes little sense to you, and so I will sign off here so that I do not embarrass myself further. When I return to London, we must catch up. I am sure you have much to tell me about what I have missed. 

Sincerely,

Fallon had been trying to stay busy since her sister’s death, throwing herself into more and more work. She had been organizing some files when she found Nathaniel Sharpe’s.  Looking at it she saw that they had been unsuccessful in contacting him after he had been released.  Knowing she would do anything for a distraction, she copied down his address and after work made her way across town to try and find him.

She stood in front of his doorway, suddenly wondering if this was a good idea.  She hadn’t spoken to him much when he was in the hospital, though she had been his nurse a few times.  Taking a deep breath, she slowly knocked on the door and waited to see if he was home.

It was no secret that Emma was lost, and had been for quite some time. After all in a matter of months her life had been turned upside down, and she hadn’t taken it in her stride. She’d run, she’d run repeatedly, and she had barely been able to cope with the loss of her grandfather and of her magic so close to each other.  Some didn’t understand why she hadn’t been unable to stick around in town, others understood too much. Most of all, she just missed having a place to belong, and she didn’t know how to say that to people. She’d been a part of a coven, a family, a relationship, she’d lost it all. Now she was scrambling to find some place to belong once more, and Nate’s words a few months earlier had her asking him to meet her, choosing the cafe for a more familiar setting for the new wolf. When she spotted Nate walking towards her, she smiled, the action not quite reaching her eyes. “Hey, thanks for meeting me Nate.”

Stella may only have spent two years of her youth in the small, sleepy town of Hollow Grove but she ensured that each moment was memorable. Often in the form of some chaos, being brought home at all times of the night or coming to the attention of the originals. She made her mark, and as abruptly as she blew into town she was gone, moving on with her life as she soon tried to forget her time in Hollow Grove. Now, upon returning she was plagued with memories of her mispent youth here, and when one familiar face caught her attention she felt a mischevious smile tug at her lips as she came to lean beside Nate. “Well, hi stranger.”

“Eat your fill. This is on me,” Dayanita picked at the cake on her own plate, pulling it apart before popping the cherry from the top in her mouth. Their friendship with Nathaniel had started with a deep appreciation for his art, but on finally speaking to the man, it became apparent very quickly that he was just the sort of person Daya was drawn to, wanted to be friends with. And so, she makes an effort with him. It is nice to feel understood, even if only through poetry. 

“Are you going to Lady Greville’s gathering tonight?” she spoke conversationally, raising her cup to take a sip of her tea. “It may be worth a visit. The Prince of Wales was at the last one, and I heard he was caught with the hostess in quite the compromising position.” Her eyes gleamed a little at the gossip. predictable as it was. Both the prince and Lady Greville were not known for their chastity. 

“And it is far better than what I was doing last weekend,” she leaned forward conspiratorially, lowering her voice dramatically. “I was stranded in Whitechapel while that madman was on the loose, and somehow found myself attending a seance to try and catch him. Can you imagine? the whole thing was absurd.”