paradisa | (no subject)

[ And here, written in a delicate and practiced script: ]

To the morning, the evening, the siren, the bright sea. To Morgana, from Lucrezia.

It would be exceedingly simple for me to ask yourself why you were named so. Morgana, like the morning. Though you remind me more of evenings, still and hushed with one too many dark corners in which to conceal secrets. Perhaps you are neither, but a siren, beckoning to all souls with your presence. I would believe you readily had you said so. They tell tales of you in Sicily. Of women beautiful beyond man's imagination who sing and seduce and ensnare. You were not singing when I met you, but you did ensnare. I would have you know that I did not choose with no reason, just as now I write with purpose.

I should send you letters on the wings of a dove for our next correspondence, as soon as my brother procures doves and as soon as I have earned your trust. Until then, a miraculous journal will have to suffice.

In Paradisa, the second of September, at the thirteenth hour.

Your most humble friend,
LUCREZIA BORGIA

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[ It has been days since she had smiled, be it true or otherwise, so it surprises her when she reads this letter than she does, indeed, smile. She had not believed the girl with the candy would write and yet she did.

She feels a girl again, receiving letters from suitors confessing to her how entranced they are by her beauty and her smile. Begging that she speak to them in person so they may hear listen to the honey sweet song of her lips for hours.

So in a rush she digs out quill and ink from the desk drawers (it takes her a few moments, the room she currently resides in is not her own and thus she is unfamiliar with it) to pen a letter back.

The words return to her with ease, as if the events of her life had never happened and she is again the ward of the king receiving letters from princes and lords. It feels nice, she decides quickly, to humor, to play along. A greatly needed distraction from the harshness of reality. ]

My dear Lady Lucrezia,

Your letter has brought me more joy than I thought possible. You say I ensnared you upon our meeting, I daresay you have charmed me completely with your warm words. You are like the sun, my lady, so very bright and beautiful but I fear to venture to close else I share Icarus' fate. Yet try as I might, I do not think I have the strength to stay away.

My heart sings to know it was with purpose you chose me and perhaps, in the future, my lips shall join in it's song and then the night's siren shall sing for you. For now I shall wait with bated breath for you reply, be it on the wings of a dove or by journal.

With faithful anticipation,
The Lady Morgana Pendragon

Edited (whoop whoop darn typos) 2012-09-03 09:24 (UTC)

[ The next letter takes time to arrive, and not yet on the wings of a dove. Her script is as fine though this one might appear more practiced than the previous one, as if copied from an original riddled with mistakes. ]

To the most radiant Lady Morgana Pendragon,

I have been told that pleasure is as fleeting as poor Icarus' life, but if I were the son of Daedalus I would not have chosen differently. I would tie those feathers to my arms and soar toward the sun one thousand times and more, because what price can one possibly place on happiness?

Yet it is with my utmost hope that I wish you gifts less fickle than delight, more like the gentle flowing river than the rushing seas, company that remains rather than raucous bedfellows that vanish come morning.

I hope as well that our correspondence will be as lasting, as the moon and as the sun, as our hands find strength to write.

Your humblest friend,
LUCREZIA BORGIA

Edited 2012-10-03 15:13 (UTC)

[ Morgana's reply is not swift, but it is also not speedy. Almost as if she counted the exact hours between, picking the most opportune time to set her pen to paper. ]

To the illustrious Lady Lucrezia Borgia,

In my experience one cannot place a price on happiness, as fleeting as it is. It's taste is far too sweet to price, yet we would do anything, pay anything, to sample such sweetness be it only for a moment. [ Her script stops and a few drops of ink splashes after her lasts words, before she continues. ]

Do not fear, my affections are true and lasting, what I wish for is more than a brief moment of pleasure. I seek something that lingers longer than the flights of hushed dalliances fleeing the moment the day kisses the night goodbye.

I must admit, my lady, it would break my heart should they ever cease. And thus I pray they do not, for my heart could not bare breaking again.

Your most hopeful friend,
The Lady Morgana Pendragon