Take things as they come,
One by one with each rising sun.
One step, one breath, one paper, one pen
And the teardrops will fade and then
Maybe, just maybe, you can breathe again.
She rolled the paper into a tight little scroll and sealed it up with wax. She chose the bottle with the shoulders and slid the letter inside.
She waited until dark because it was easier that way. The fewer people that saw her, the fewer questions she might have to face. How did you get up so high? What are you doing on that ledge? Aren’t you afraid you’ll fall?
I have fallen once, she told them in her head, and I should have died then.
I wish I had died then.
But they didn’t see her move through the shadows, or if they did, they told themselves it was just the light playing tricks on their eyes. Old eyes in the candle light. Young eyes full of imagination.
She stood on the ledge where she hid so long ago after fleeing from her only home, the Ivory Tower. The Keep of the Swan-Knights loomed in the moonlight and she wished that it was only guard duty that kept him away. The bottle, hard and cold in her hand, glinted, gave her intentions away if anyone cared to look. Did anyone care to look?
With all of her strength, she threw the bottle with the rolled up letter and it sailed in the starlight, through the air, and splashed into the waters below. Every night the ritual was the same since she moved to her father’s house. People kept journals all the time, of course. Letters were normal to send to loved ones.
Arameril shared her journal, her day, with her loved one, and since no post could carry the words to him, she prayed to Elmeleth that they would find him through her offering to the sea.