smallestshrike (smallestshrike) wrote in theunboundic, @ 2020-06-12 00:05:00 |
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Current mood: | cynical |
Entry tags: | ! time: june 26 - july 2, adaline auster, courtenay auster |
hello from the other side
Who: Adaline & Court
What: Letters between siblings
When: The week leading up to Carnivale (and perhaps, also, the aftermath?)
Dearest brother,
Please tell me something interesting, as my eyes are about to roll out of my skull from sheer, unadulterated boredom. Perhaps Carnivale season is exciting in Aurelle? Perhaps you are making plans (or planning to make no plans - a little unstructured chaos to accelerate the heart?) Regardless, I'm certain that whatever you're doing is far more stimulating than the past few weeks have been for me.
I am beginning to suspect that mother simply no longer cares about me. Does that sound melodramatic? Perhaps I am being unfair, but she is steadfastly refusing to listen to my thoughts or take into account my preferences when it comes to Carnivale. Father has begun to exert even tighter control on the household, and (I can only assume) has strong-armed her into becoming his henchman. In any case, I've spent countless hours at painfully awkward social functions, being forced into uncomfortable conversations with people I would rather avoid.
What has this to do with Carnivale? Well, as you may recall, my general preference is to spend the evening as far away from company as possible. And that has been easy enough, previously, due to a combination of age and illness. You know I hate to use my condition as an excuse, but I will make an exception for the avoidance of tiresome social functions.
But they won't have it this year. Father has conjured up yet another moist-palmed suitor for me, and this one has unfortunately proven very persistent. You may recall in previous letters I referred to him as The Stoat, as he has a little pointed face and odd, flat ears that protrude entirely too much from under his mop of hair. Stoats are perfectly agreeable in the animal kingdom, where they belong. Their characteristics do not translate well to the human form.
Both mother and father have been exerting not so gentle pressure on me to make plans with The Stoat for Carnivale. I would sooner drown myself. The Stoat's behavior has thus far been uncomfortable, but within the agreed upon parameters of moral decency. I am not inclined to give him license to behave however he wishes.
It has become clear that father and The Stoat have come to some kind of arrangement behind closed doors and/or over a great many decanters of rye. Once again, my opinion was neither sought nor considered. When I questioned mother about it, she sighed very heavily and stared out the window for an inordinately long time before finally saying, "some things, you can't change, Adaline."
Sometimes I feel like I must be mad. Perhaps the polio somehow affected my brain, because I simply do not and cannot see these things as others seem to. I am not excited for an evening of debauchery orchestrated by our parents and executed in this horrid, insular community full of people who openly dislike me or think me a curiosity or a freak. And I have no desire to become somebody's wife (most certainly not The Stoat's!) And yet everyone I know is buzzing with anticipation.
Sometimes I think I must be a changeling, that the real Adaline Auster was exchanged at birth with a faerie child. And perhaps that's why I'm so sickly: it isn't polio at all, just a function of my faerie body, unable to function in this stupid human world.
Anyway, I apologize for being less than upbeat. Do you think there is something wrong with me? Or are things different elsewhere - less restrictive, less monotonous?
I want to hear about your life - the people you've met and the parties you'll attend this coming Friday. I want to know what the view from your window looks like, how you've been spending your days (and nights?) I'm sure Aurelle isn't quite faerieland, but by contrast, it might as well be. Please, paint me a picture with your words. I want to feel like somewhere there might be an escape.
I miss you. When you're here, things are considerably more bearable.
All my love,
Adaline