To Whom This Note Concerns
“Cui ego deprecarentur pertinent ... moras contingentes in te...argh! It’s uncouth to just spill your guts out like a maniac. You need a hook. Why am I writing this letter...? I’m writing it because my sweet adorable Mom (or Her Highness The Queen Mary) had been particularly attentive when it came to me, inspiring me to write a book? Two of them, even? Telling me about how I’d be a Sister or something and that she had some plan for me? A big plan involving land? Land development? Something with land in it...” I crumpled up the parchment, tossing it into the crown like it was a jeweled garbage can.
“CRAP! BIRD CRAP!” I grumbled, slightly peeved, slowly reconsidering my decision to ask for help. Decadence? Me? Really? What kind of an idiot...
I sighed. The familiar was right. Maybe this was just my imagination running wild again. It couldn’t get any better than this. The Mary-fantasy, the cat, the boyfriend-who-isn’t...the Saint “visits” even--
...only a couple months or two since then and I was already knee freaking-deep in it, but I needed help. I really needed help. Validation. It was right there, dammit. Help was just a carrier pigeon, and seventy something pamphlets, away.
Me, having ignored the pamphlets dragged in by the cat, now had to rely on the carrier pigeon...alone.
Oh, you thought the prince was going to join me on this adventure? Nope. It was me, and a tinfoil crown.
“Okay, she’s right! I hate to admit it, but she’s right.”
The cat grinned, before licking the chocolate off of its paw.
“Do you think my brain’s screaming for help? Really? Especially when I clearly am not hooked on it...”
The cat had once again vanished before I could rant, Mary smiling in the mirror. “Yes, I love you...I’ll send the pigeon...NOT NOW!” And then, as if by magic, the cat returned and relaxed on the windowsill, smiling at me before vanishing again. “I need to relax...I’m freaking out again. Fine. I’ll send a pigeon. And I’ll do it before my memory blanks.”Ad hoc , ut , quem ad ...