Lenore's eyes are swollen when morning arrives, but the warm cloth Mary placed over them the night before has taken away most of the soreness that was building. When Eva enters the room and helps her prepare for the day, she doesn't mention that Lenore has clearly been crying. Instead, she's perfectly professional.
As Eva brushes Lenore's hair, carefully braiding it into a simple style that oozes elegance, she asks, "Will you be having breakfast in the dining room, my lady?"
Lenore glances at the letters from her siblings, still unopened on her table. "Not today. I'll eat something light in my chambers."
"I'll let the kitchen know. Did you perhaps want a warm cup of tea to calm your nerves as well?"
"Is it that obvious?" Lenore laughs softly, the sound a bit more shaky than usual.
Eva smiles, but doesn't answer Lenore's question.
"I shouldn't be so anxious to read letters from my family," Lenore says. "It's just that they bring up a lot of emotions that I didn't expect I would need to deal with. At least, not yet."
"Family has a way of doing that—bringing up unexpected emotions."
"Maybe."
Eva finishes helping Lenore with her morning routine without another word, then she leaves to retrieve breakfast and tea.
Lenore isn't sure if she'll have an appetite after reading what her brother and sister wrote, but she also can't stop herself from tearing open the letters. She's already waited for a whole night, and if she doesn't read them soon, she's afraid that she'll no longer have the courage to read them at all. Since her brother is the oldest child, it makes sense to read his letter first. She wonders what he looks like now. Has he grown into a fine man? Does he still have that shy smile on his face when he receives praise?
My Sister, Lenore
I don't know if you want to hear from me. I almost didn't write this because I wasn't sure if it would make things better or worse. But in the end, I thought—if you reached out, then I could find the courage to reply.
We were just kids the last time we saw each other. It took a while for the reality that you weren't coming back to set in, and even when I understood that much, I couldn't understand why you were gone. I don't know if I could've made a difference—if I could've done something different and changed what happened. Still, I never stopped thinking I should've tried harder to bring you back.
It might not make a difference now, but I never stopped thinking about you. I'd wonder what you were doing, or glance into your room, expecting to see you there as if you'd never left.
For what it's worth, I'm sorry. I understand if you don't want to see me again, but please keep writing to Mom and Dad at least. The years have been particularly hard on Mom.
Take care of yourself.
Evander
She must spend quite a while staring at her brother's words, as Eva appears with her breakfast and tea, excusing herself as quickly as she entered. For that, Lenore is grateful. She's not sure that her voice would be steady if Eva expected her to speak. Even her hands are unsteady, sloshing the tea around its cup as she brings it to her lips to take a sip. It's warm and fragrant, but its calming herbs aren't strong enough to quell the torrent of emotions in her heart.
One more letter. Then, she can start deciding how to move forward with her family, rather than being shackled by the past.
With a deep breath, she opens the letter from her sister.
My lovely Lenore,
Do you remember when I'd weave flowers from the garden into your hair? It's one of the memories that helped me through these years. Every spring, I'd pick the prettiest flowers and save them in a vase, waiting for you to arrive so I could put them in your hair. Even when it was clear that you weren't coming home, I plucked them. Just in case. Maybe the gods would finally hear my prayers and bring you back.
Now, it's been so long, and I don't know if you want to hear from me. Part of me is afraid that sending this will just hurt you more, and that's the last thing I want. I don't know what our uncle told you, or what your life was like with him. Considering he sent you to Barrowmere, knowing the rumors that surround it, I can't imagine your life was easy. I'm sorry about that.
I thought about you every day. I used to imagine what I would say if we ever spoke again, but now that the moment is here, all the words feel wrong. It's funny to think that the most difficult magic formulas aren't enough to scare me, but my hand and heart tremble at the idea of writing a letter to my little sister.
I hope you're safe and that someone is taking care of you like the fairy princess you resembled with flowers in your hair and a smile that rivaled the sun. If you ever want to write back, I would be so happy. If not, that's all right, too. I just wanted you to know that you're still my sister, even if we were apart for too long. Even if I wasn't able to save you from the loneliness you certainly felt over the years.
I'll wish for your happiness. Wherever you are, I'm sure you've grown into a fine lady.
With love,
Vella
They're just pieces of parchment, but to Lenore, they've become more precious than she can say. For so long, she wondered about her family. Did her parents abandon her? Did her brother and sister think about her—or remember her at all? Every thought was a small cut on her heart, one after the other until it was a bleeding mess.
All that time... they thought about her. They missed her and loved her the entire time she felt alone and worthless in her uncle's estate.
Lenore doesn't try to stop the tears or the wails that accompany them. The pain that accumulated over a decade resurfaces, and she doesn't stop it. Not this time.
Once she lets herself feel the weight of those built-up emotions, she can finally try to start healing.
She's going to need a lot more paper. And ink.