Body Language: A "Fairy" Tale

Body Language
A “Fairy” Tale 


Dear Annie,

You told me to make this about me, but I can’t help a few lines of another topic, to ease myself into the story. Forgive me. Where are you right now, as you read this? I’m picturing you in the chair by the window, tilting the paper to catch the last, red-tinted rays of light from the low evening sun.
I’m new to writing like this, to recording things in an orderly manner. You write all the time, and it seems that if you can do it I must be able to too, but my hand is cramping and I find myself stuttering or stopping or losing hold of my thoughts.
Roland even tells me that in writing I sound nothing like my speaking self. And it’s true, I feel awkward and unnatural. But because this happened and because I can feel it happening and watch it play back in my mind, the words I try to use to rope it down for your viewing and understanding just don’t seem strong enough. I’ll try my best for you, though.

I was born, as you know, in a cabin near Dreidon to Mum and Pa. Kenny was four when I was born, and he says he remembers thinking Mum was dying when she had me, because there was so much blood. She wasn’t, though, and we both survived the ordeal in good health. Da then tells me that not two minutes after the birth, the family left the cabin in a motley procession, Da holding me and Kenny holding Mum’s hand, to bury the afterbirth under the elm behind the shed—we may have been poor, but not as poor as those who choked the placenta down as their next meal.
When I was four and he eight, Kenny was enrolled in an academy for jousting. Mum and Pa didn’t care about jousting, and even Kenny didn’t care about jousting, but the school kept him fed and under a roof, which relaxed our tight budget somewhat. Kenny came home to visit every Sunday, and together we’d walk the eight miles into town to attend the late church service and then walk back for a meal.
However, my favorite day was Tuesday. Tuesdays were Kenny’s match days, and every morning we would walk into town and stand in the straw-covered pit reserved for commoners to watch him fight. Before his bouts, pretty rich girls in the stands flung lacy handkerchiefs for my brother to catch, and I watched this with envy. My brother was a terrible jouster, but he was handsome and charming, and girls in droves offered him their undying love daily.

I was nine; it was after one of Kenny’s bouts. He’d lost terribly, as usual, but girls had still fawned over him, blushing and giggling whenever he turned his eyes to talk to one. It was some holiday or another, I forget which, but the school allowed its students a day off after the morning bout, and Kenny brought home with him a beautiful girl named Daisy.
Daisy was stunning. All the girls Kenny brought home were, of course, but I remember Daisy’s beauty in particular because of what happened later that night.
We had just finished eating dinner, and Mum and Pa left me at home in the care of Kenny and his new girl while they attended an evening adult play at the theatre. For a while, Kenny entertained me with a deck of cards, showing off his caring and brotherly nature for Daisy, who giggled and grasped his shoulders or hands at every opportunity. Just as I was in the midst of a long winning streak, Kenny stopped playing abruptly and stood up.
“Kenny!” I screeched, “You jerk! You promised you’d play with me!”
“Sorry,” he muttered. “I—”
“Kenny and I have some grown-up plans, sweetie,” Daisy purred. “Now go up to bed, Cristina, and don’t be a brat.” She pinched the skin on my leg playfully, leaving a painful red mark.
“Ow!” I yelled, jerking my leg away. “Kenny—!”
“Oh, shut up,” Daisy snapped, standing up. She put her pointy red fingernails on Kenny’s chest and pushed him lightly out of the room.
“Sonofabitch!” I shouted sullenly after them, using a word I’d learned from one of Kenny’s fights with Pa. They didn’t answer, though, and I trudged upstairs to my room and flopped miserably on my bed.
I was mad at Daisy for stealing my brother away, and I was mad at my brother for allowing her to do so. I was mad at my parents, who left me alone with nothing to do and nobody to play with. But mostly I was mad at Daisy, who infuriated me so and yet somehow pulled on something in my gut in a way I despised. As I lay face-first on the mattress, I concocted a plan to get back at Daisy and Kenny.
I tiptoed to the kitchen and collected a jug of water, a skein of yarn, and a cutting knife, planning to rig the jug up with the string in such a manner that it might tip and spill water upon their two heads. But as I crept towards Kenny’s room, I heard a stifled noise from behind the cracked door. The noise came again, louder, and I detected the soft sound of a mattress creaking.
Abandoning my supplies in favor of this new curiosity, I slipped my head into the dark room and peered in. As my eyes adjusted, a terrible sight crept into view: Kenny on his back, naked white legs spread like a frog, gasping and thrusting his hips up and down. And above him, thrusting in equal measure, Daisy moved sensuously and fiercely, occasionally letting go of a muffled moan. The faint light from outside traced her pale buttocks in soft light, and I felt a twinge between my legs as I looked at her.
With another huff of breath, Daisy arched up, letting a single a single alabaster breast into view. I watched, unable to take my eyes her, and used my left hand to cautiously feel through the fabric of my underwear the strange feeling growing in me. A gasp escaped me, and while Kenny continued rocking obliviously, Daisy turned to look, still thrusting. She caught sight of me in the doorway, and winked, arching her body into full view for just a moment while holding my gaze.
I stumbled backwards out of the room, tripping over the jug and sending water spilling down the hallway. Half in fright and half in ecstasy, I tripped back a few more paces, at the same time shoving my hand into my panties. In my mind I was the one rocking beneath that beautiful body. Outside of Kenny’s room, while he and Daisy writhed and moaned in synchrony, I orgasmed on my hand to visions of Daisy’s swinging breasts and tight, dimpled buttocks.

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Dearest Harry,

You don’t know me, but I know you. I know that’s a creepy way to start. Even though this letter will never reach you, I want this “correspondence” to begin on friendly terms. Let’s start simple, shall we?
I know you are named Prince Harry, son of the current King Richard and heir to the throne. You walk by my tower every day and I watch you from this safe distance, writhing in jealously as you joke with your friends. You have a girlfriend named Angelica, whom I revile. You are tall and tan and blonde, with sparkling eyes.
Twice, I have seen you naked, with your wet hair slicked along your neck and creating beads of lakewater that dripped in runnels down your muscled frame. You strode in the hot bright sunlight, your cock dangling like a beacon between your legs. Once I even saw you take yourself in your hands and jokingly threaten to fire urine upon your mocking friend. As I watched you handle yourself, I ground my crotch against the cot I sleep in like a bitch in heat. I have orgasmed a thousand times to the thought of your hands on my body, your wide red mouth on my cock.

I am known as Roland, son of none, orphaned at a young age and sent to live with the very sorcerer who keeps me imprisoned in this tower. I am seventeen years of age; I am skinny and pale with shaggy red-orange hair. Twice a day, I am fed by way of a slot in the barred door to my cell. I smell.
When I was thirteen I was sent by my uncle, the sorcerer, to attend piano lessons. At thirteen I was not in this tower but rather living in my own room in the sorcerer’s house. My piano teacher was nineteen and slyly handsome, with a shaved head, skinny green eyes, and heavy dark eyebrows. When not instructing me, he talked often of his girlfriend Chauncey. He spoke of her firm, bouncing breasts and wide ass and long, silky hair. A few weeks in, he spoke of himself in her, describing the scene in infinite detail.
“We’re in the hallway,” Liam said, looking at me from the side. “We’re stumbling into the bedroom, and as she’s stumbling I’ve got my hands on her tits, and I’m kneading them, I’m fucking kneading them, and she’s grinding against me, grinding into my crotch… And then she undoes my pants, and I spring out, I spring out like a fucking poker I’m so hot, and she kneels down, and do you know what she does? Do you?”
Mutely, I shook my head no, trying to control my shallow breathing.
Liam was breathing heavily as well, still watching me out of the corner of his eye as he looked to the side, seemingly uninterested. However, his pants evidenced his excitement, bulging at the crotch.
“She takes me, she takes my fucking cock—” On the word “cock,” Liam reached over and squeezed my own erection, then leaned in to leer in my face as he continued his tale.
“She’s got my cock in her mouth,” Liam said, stroking at my crotch again for emphasis. “Do you know what that feels like?” His voice was softer then. “Do you know what that feels like?” And then, “Let me show you.” And he took himself out of his pants and stood in front of me, expressionless. We both panted heavily on either end of his cock, which sprung out between us like a peacemaker. And then he lurched towards me and then we fucked and fucked and God, we were fucking.
We wasted no more time discussing piano or girlfriends after that, and instead dropped our trousers nearly as soon as I walked in the door for my weekly “lesson.” Then my uncle walked in early on one of my lessons. Then we were caught. Then I was locked in this tower.
I’ve been here for four years. In the first years, I tried numerous ways to kill myself, but it was impossible with the sorcerer keeping watch. Now I’ve stopped trying, though, because I’ve seen you. Liam was sly and he fucked hard and angry. Liam never loved me. But you will be different, Harry.

Love, Roland

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Dear Annie,

You already know a little of what happened the day after I saw Kenny and Daisy having sex, which is this: I ran away with the circus. Well, not the circus, but rather the jousting company. It was a rash decision for a nine-year-old, but I was a rash nine-year-old. I supposed my thought process went something like this: I realized I wanted girls. I realized that Kenny got girls because of his jousting. I also realized that Kenny got girls because he was a boy. I became a jouster. I became a boy.
I was a very skinny girl—even now, as you know, I have barely-present breasts and slim hips—and passed easily as male as I joined a line of other boys signing up at a traveling jousting company. The company was called The Vassals of Reighton All-Boys Jousting Academy, a rival of the one Kenny attended. The key to this company, of course, was that it traveled. With luck, I would never come near my hometown of Dreidon again, and thus never be at risk of being discovered.
I cast off the unwieldy moniker Cristina McMillan that I’d had since birth and instead signed up as Charley Stone. I imagined I would live up to the ideals my strong new last name implied, and in fact I did. During the seven years ze attended Vassals, Charley Stone grew to join the best of the bunch, winning by a brutally wide margin nearly every bout ze fought. Ze was accepted into the rough clique of boys that ruled the roost at the academy, which exempted zir from the torture these boys inflicted on their younger and weaker classmates.
Best of all, Charley was adored by girls. Zirs admirers recounted that, though ze was known to run with a tough group, Charley alone was sweet and charming. They fantasized about zir handsome face, which ze shaved so well it was never even the slightest bit stubbly, unlike the chins of the other boys. Through it all, Charley’s chest never grew beyond what could be concealed, and ze kept it bound at all times, though it was hardly necessary.
Charley grew tall, and zir body became leanly muscular. Ze was confident, charming everyone ze met; with the boys ze was rowdy and loud and dauntless; with girls he was self-assured, sweet, and charismatic.
Charley exchanged many kisses after bouts with the rich girls that flocked to meet zir. Ze loved their attention, and at times could hardly believe no one saw through zir. It actually helped zirs disguise that Charley was so horny, as it helped to assert zir assumed manliness. Zirs peers at the academy joked with zir about the girls ze kissed, teasing that it was a new one every day—and it usually was. Zirs friend Joey was the worst.
“Stone!” he’d say, pulling Charley into a headlock from behind. “Three in one day! That must be a new record!”
“You kidding me?” Charley replied smoothly. “In Cadfield I got a blonde, a redhead, two brunettes, and one named Mary-Lou and I put my hand up Mary-Lou’s shirt.”
Joey slapped zir on the back, laughing. “And what color was Mary-Lou’s hair, then?”
“I don’t know, man,” Charley said, picturing the girl’s bobbed blonde hair. “I wasn’t paying attention to that!”
“More importantly,” a boy named Ralph called from his position on the rug, “Did ya’ bang her?”
“’Course I did,” Charley retorted cockily.
“Fuuuck, man!” Joey cheered. “Why didn’t you tell me that in the first place?”

But I didn’t fuck Mary-Lou, of course.

I wasn’t any sort of angel though; I used my superstar status absolutely to my advantage, grabbing every opportunity I got and always pushing my conquests with girls as far as I could without being discovered. Quantity makes up for quality, I thought: If I can’t fuck a girl, at least I can do everything but with every girl I get my hands on.

That part about me you didn’t know, Annie. I never told you how many girls’ lips I kissed or chests I felt up or bodies I ground against in back rooms. I stuffed my pants before engaging with any of these girls, so that when I pinned them against the wall in liplock my fake erection pressed enticingly into their crotches and thighs. Multiple times I brought a girl into the boys’ shared dorm room and kissed her long and hard for show in front of them all. Against a chorus of catcalls and cheers from the boys, I’d guide her hand down to my prominent crotch, and then eventually we’d slip out the door, presumably to fuck. Some of it I did for survival among the girl-hungry and rough boys of my dorm, but some of it I enjoyed. And I wanted to fuck. Do you still think as highly of me as you did before?

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My Dearest Harry,

I long each time I see you pass my tower to call out. But I know that if I did, the sorcerer would punish us both greatly. I would never put you in danger.
If I did call out to you—and if the sorcerer’s fury were somehow bypassed—how could I bear to let you see me in this state?
Harry, if I were with you, I would love you like nobody ever has or will. We will move away to a place no one can find us, and we will live by ourselves in the castle I construct for you. I will keep you clothed in the finest items money can buy, and you will eat meals even more enticing than you have ever tasted. We will make love sweetly in the open fields and forests, and fuck hard with our thrusts pounding our bodies into the needled ground.

My Darling Harry
Your eyes set my heart ablaze
Someday you’ll be mine

My uncle is a sorcerer, and he knows I am an abomination. He tries to cure me—or punish me; I do not know which—by forcing his potions into my body. Sometimes he fills the air with putrid and multi-colored gases, of which I have no choice but to breathe in a little. Or sometimes he hides the mixtures in my food, stirring it into my soup or planting it in my bread. I never know when he has hidden something in my food or drink until many hours after, when I am wracked with convulsions and fevers and other symptoms.
Both today and yesterday, however, my usual servings of food have been strangely absent. I have missed three meals so far, and am feeling faint of hunger and thirst. But I know that whatever ruse he is trying now, I will overcome it, because he surely has no intention of killing me. At least by tomorrow or at the very latest, in two days, he must halt this new punishment. Oh, Harry, I have been trying to keep uplifting thoughts of you in my mind as I pace in my cell, but it is hard to calm my growling stomach and unbearably dry throat.
I am so, so terribly thirsty, and sometimes my mind slips from my control and I fear I will die tomorrow. I don’t think his cures are working, though, because I still pine for you each night and day. One day we will be together. So tightly bound in our love we will be that nothing will ever be able to tear us apart.

With all of my love, Roland

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Annie—

When I was sixteen, I saw Evelyn.
         
It was after a particularly tough match; still glowing in pride, I was stripping my armor off beside the arena in Kenmore, the town we were visiting.
A sultry voice next to my ear murmured, “Very nice fight just now,” making me startle.
“Thank you, ma’am,” I replied, smiling as I turned to face the speaker.
At first, the only thing I saw was her eyes. They were a creamy light brown, and framed in thick dark lashes. Then, below them, a wide, sensuous mouth. A thin nose. No freckles. I think my mouth may have dropped open slightly. The woman simply oozed sensuality.
She looked to be in her mid-thirties, but at the same time I wouldn’t have been surprised if she was twenty-two or even forty-five. From out of the drapes of her sweeping trenchcoat, she extended a grey-gloved hand. I offered my sweaty one in return. “Evelyn Monroe,” the woman said. “And you are…?”
“Charley,” I said shortly. I bent over to scoop up some plates of armor, hoping the movement would give me some time to compose my expression. She stayed silent while I was bending down.
“I’m sure you’re very attached to your place in the academy,” Evelyn offered after a moment.
“I enjoy jousting. Plus, I enjoy the other… benefits.” I gave her my usual cocky smile, but she didn’t take the bait, instead reaching up to remove her floppy black hat.
“I can take that for you.” I set down the metal plates and held out an arm to receive the hat.
Without the hat’s big brim covering it, the woman’s brilliant red hair nearly glowed. Though pulled back in a tight French braid, it seemed alive, nearly writhing to be free of its constraints. I couldn’t help a sharp intake of breath; every part of herself she so slowly unveiled to me only increased my attraction to her.
“Thank you.” Evelyn smiled. “It’s quite hot out, isn’t it?”
You are, I thought. “I’d be hot too, in that coat,” I replied evenly.
Evelyn smiled again, but made no move to shed the thick layer. “How might you like giving up this illustrious career of yours… and moving in with me as a stablehand?” she offered unexpectedly.
I blinked at her, spellbound but confused. I didn’t say anything, waiting for the question to make sense.
Evelyn scooped her hat from my arms and stepped back, sizing me up. “Yes,” she finally said. “I’d like that. I could use a strapping lass like you around.”

And that is how I came to live with the widow Mrs. Evelyn Monroe. After she left me with a card bearing her address in my hand, I stood there blinking for a moment, thinking lass, lass, lass. She knows what I am. Then I gathered my senses and ran back to the dorms. I packed very few things, taking only my best outfit, a men’s suit and tie, and my beloved newsboy hat. In an empty bathroom near the farthest reaches of the camp I changed into the suit and hat, and stepped discretely into a stream of commoners returning home from the match. Then I slipped out of the company grounds and into the streets of Kenmore.

Just as I joined the jousting company on a whim, I left on equally unstable grounds, chasing after a woman twice my age with whom I had fallen, for lack of a better phrase, in lust with. I arrived at her address by late afternoon, and hesitated before walking up the small path to the door. I was suddenly getting very nervous. What if Evelyn wasn’t what I’d thought she was? What if she was joking when she offered me the job? Most importantly, had I read her wrong, and would I be stuck in the same house as this woman, working as her actual stablehand?
But I steeled myself and knocked. She answered the door dressed in the same trenchcoat as before, but the hat was nowhere to be seen. She smiled, the expression just teetering on the edge of a leer. “Come in, Charley.”
Inside, the house was huge and polished. Everything hinted at money, and lots of it. To my left, a sweeping curved staircase spiraled up into the gloom, and sumptuous couches were arranged in an intimate semicircle in the center of the room. Rugs decorated not only the floor but also the walls, with intricate Oriental carpets hanging here and there. Chandeliers hung imposingly from the ceiling in multiple locations, sending shards of light flickering across the room—
“Let’s get to business, shall we?” Evelyn interrupted my train of thought. My head snapped back around to face her.
She was so sexy. This first time and every time thereafter, whenever she undressed I could do nothing but watch. Bit by bit, pieces of her emerged and grew to normal size and vibrancy. First, her pants were slid off. Somehow, she always managed to do this without removing her thigh-high boots. As with many things with Evelyn, I could never tell if this is a purposeful ploy or it was simply the way she thought and moved.
Her shirt was next, and then her breasts spilled out, swinging like melons. Now her panties came off. Her hair seemed to pull free of its bindings as she unwound it, spreading around her face and body like an aura. She was left standing in her boots, and by that time I was throbbing with want for her.
I wanted to fling myself facefirst into her cunt, or, better yet, the reverse, but she made me wait. I took her foot in my hands and unzipped the boot all the way down until she could slip it off, then did the same for the other. I zipped the foot-less boots ever-so-carefully back up, then coerced them onto a special rack next to the closet.
She stood behind me, and I could feel her want heating my back and thighs. I was so wet I must have been dripping, and when she finally slid her hand inside of me my body was a firey mess.

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Dear Annie,

I’m sorry I’ve written twice today. I’m worried, though, that the details are already getting muddled in my mind, and so I am trying to speed up my letters a bit.

I lived with Evelyn for maybe a year in Kenmore, or slightly less. Living with her was exhilarating, sexy, and never boring. I was now indulging in quantity as well as quality, as we fucked many times a day. The fucking was hot and furious and imaginative. It got to the point that my cunt would twitch like a trained dog at the sight of her, already anticipating future orgasms.
We fucked all the time. Her tongue was hot and wet and she played with clit incessantly, teasing me to the edge of orgasm, but not quite. When I finally came against her tongue it was in crashing waves and I shuddered and jerked hard against the couch or bed or wall. She liked me to wear a dildo sometimes too, and would stand me naked in the harness and stop to admire me. Occasionally, when she was occupied with cooking or some other task, I’d walk up behind her with the dildo in place and yank her roughly onto my cock. She came so hard those times, and I liked to watch her come, even as I was close to orgasm myself.
I was rough, but over time she got rougher. The first time she slapped me, I came then and there. Then she started doing more, slapping and biting me, but I didn’t return any of it, just simply fucked her as I always had. It was getting so that it hurt, and I wanted her to stop. She started tying me to the bed, slapping and biting and hurting me. Throughout it all she was clearly in ecstasy, orgasming multiple times during my beating.
“I want to fuck, not be tortured!” I yelled.
“I am fucking,” she hissed back.
The angrier I got at how she treated me and my wishes, the more I wanted her all over again. Both furious and highly turned-on, I’d catch her unawares more and more often, pinning her shoulders against a wall and fucking and fucking and fucking her. I never noticed if she came when I did that, but I did many times.

At some point, Evelyn announced that we were moving. I didn’t know why then, but I learned later that money was running out. When we moved, it was to a much smaller house in the town of Edinvale. The house was quaint, with red and white shutters and a cheery yellow door. Evelyn hated it though, and complained at every opportunity about its many deficiencies.
On the way to Edinvale, just on the outskirts of the town, I spotted a tall, dilapidated, castle-like structure that loomed over the dusty path. I made note of it, thinking it would make a perfect place to escape from Evelyn for a few hours of peace if I ever needed it. Ironically, when I finally did set out to explore the mysterious structure a few days later, the peace I had been anticipating was nowhere in sight.

If Evelyn and I were traveling slowly downhill in our sex-centered relationship before, the events that afternoon only increased our disastrous speed.  The moment I decided to explore the castle was the start of a steep and terrifying free-fall.

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Most Beloved Harry,

Today has been the strangest and most wonderful of days. Where to begin?

Usually you and your many friends, my love, are the only frequenters of this lonely trail, but a number of days ago I saw two travelers headed towards my hometown of Edinvale. An older woman and a boy of about my own age, both on horseback, were following the path at a leisurely pace; at the time, I thought they might be mother and son.
However, as events unfolded the scene grew more complex, and the tumultuous journey of today ended at last in this room, not in the tower but in a house I have entered of my own free will. I am free, Harry! And here is how:

Some days after I first saw the boy and his mother, I was startled from a daydream by the sound of cantering hoofbeats. Thinking it must be you passing by a third time that day, I rushed to the barred window. However, I saw instead that it was the boy from before. And much to my surprise, he slowed upon arrival, and got off at the base of the tower.
I realized at once that he knew nothing of the powerful sorcerer residing within, and much less of me, the captive. I nearly called out to warn him, but realized I could do nothing to help. Perhaps without the curse of my own damning shout, the boy might figure out on his own the danger he was in. But if I did cry out, the sorcerer would surely punish us both severely. I stayed silent.
After many minutes of waiting fearfully at the window for a sign of the unlucky lad fleeing from the scene, a very strange thing occurred. That same boy appeared at the door of my cell, bearing in his hand a key and on his face a determinedly confused expression.
In a voice still somewhat high and boyish despite his obvious age, the boy asked, “Excuse me, would you explain the… predicament here? There’s a dead old man in the basement, some kind of colored gunk congealing in bowls and pots covering every surface I see, and a skinny boy in a cage at the top… What the hell is going on?”
As I opened my mouth to explain, I suddenly stopped short, realizing that my visitor was in fact very clearly not the son of the woman I’d seen earlier. “I thought…” I started, “Um, I thought you were a boy.”
“I am not,” ze agreed. “Now explain.”
“My uncle… my uncle is a sorcerer, who … didn’t approve of someone I loved. He’s keeping me locked in here and could you please get me out?! I haven’t eaten or drunk in three days; I’m starving forgodssake! Stop-just-standing-there-I’m-fucking-starving!” I trailed off into a blubbering mess.
“Whoa,” the visitor huffed. “Calm down, I’ll get you out. My name’s Charley.” Ze fussed with the rusty lock on the door for a few moments, then as it creaked open added dryly, “and, dear, I think your uncle is dead. He’s rotting away downstairs in a pool of green sludge.”

And now I am here, writing to you from a small wooden desk. I am sharing a house with Charley, my rescuer, and the strange seductress ze lives with. Charley’s lover’s name is Evelyn, and she terrifies me. I can tell she despises me; I don’t know if relations in the household were this volatile before I came, but my presence has clearly not helped the situation.
But I shouldn’t dwell on that, Harry. Unbelievably, I am free of the tower and my uncle at last. I hardly know what to do with myself.

With love unbounded, Roland

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Annie,

I am so pressed for time. You are arriving in two days, and I must finish my tale before you are here.

From that mysterious tower I freed a skinny orange-headed boy of my same age, 17. He went by Roland, and he came to stay with Evelyn and me, having nowhere else to go. I don’t know why, but Evelyn despised him. We were struggling before, but after Roland moved in it was worse, both emotionally and financially.
I liked Roland. Once he found food and water and rest, he became a very charming and cheerful young man, though he was clearly pining for something or someone. He felt like a brother to me, and it angered me that Evelyn was so disgusted by his presence.
We continued our downhill tumble. The day before Roland and I moved out, Evelyn and I got into our worst screaming match yet; she contended that in order to keep our finances afloat, it was necessary for me to prostitute myself, while I refused on all grounds. Then I left.

Roland and I traveled for a few months around the countryside, growing as close as siblings. He of course knew about my own sexual tendencies, having seen me with Evelyn by accident some number of times, and I eventually found out who he was pining for, which gave us both a laugh. Roland is, of course, of the same nature that you and I are, and Evelyn as well.
In the course of our travels, I saw also that Roland was becoming more cheerful, shedding his usual sad demeanor. I believe he was slowly getting over his old infatuation with the Prince of this region, and living more in the real world. I don’t know about the appeal of Harry himself, but I do know he has a girlfriend who is said to be quite the temptress…

But you know, of course, that no one can compare to you.

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Dear Gavin,

I saw you in the marketplace this morning, and you looked so handsome and charming I immediately introduced myself. I want you to know of your own beauty and of the courteous way in which you chatted with me this happy morning. I confess, my attraction to you is real and palpable, but I recognize our differences. Not long from now I know I will meet someone as kind and delightful as you who also shares my attraction. I thank you sincerely for your polite attention, and wish you well in the world.

With affection, Roland
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Annie,

At last, I have reached the end of my tale. You are the last chapter.

I saw you twice by chance in Aberhert, and then four times more of our own devising in that same location. Now, somehow, magically, you are speeding my way at this very moment. You are set to arrive at my cottage within the hour, and I am waiting for you most impatiently and with nerves jangling. Your very presence makes me forget who I am and I stumble dearly over simple words in your presence.
You fit so perfectly into my world. You have met Roland, a friend so close he is like a brother, and joke easily and fondly with him. With me, you are sometimes shy and sometimes bold, and always you are unspeakably beautiful in every way, so much so that I catch my breath to hear you speak.

Soon, you will walk in this very door, and after that I do not know where life will take us. I wait here anxiously for your arrival, whereupon I will blushingly take your hand to lead you into my home, a world I wish greatly to share with you.

Yours,
Charley