My chaos‑kissed comet Mari,
Only you could send a letter that makes me set down my tea, pinch the bridge of my nose, and mutter your name like a prayer and a warning at the same time. Truly, you are a menace of the highest order — and I adore you for it. Now, let’s talk about this wardrobe before it decides to sprout legs and walk to Elderbrook on its own.
But first: Rowan. My dear friend when will you see what’s right in front of you?
I can picture him exactly as you described — standing in your doorway like a carved figurehead on a ship, steady but braced, as if the air itself had teeth. Rowan doesn’t rattle easily. If he refused to step into the room, it’s because something in that space pressed against his instincts hard enough to make him listen. And his warning — don’t open anything that isn’t yours — is the kind of thing people say when they don’t know why they’re saying it, only that they must.
Trust his unease, but don’t let it swallow you. I do believe the Wardrobe is still listening, so be careful with your words.
In more mundane news, Elias stopped by my workshop yesterday. He claimed he was “just passing by,” which is a laughable excuse. He didn’t come past the threshold. Instead, he hovered — quietly, thoughtfully — the way he does when he’s trying to decide whether to speak or keep something tucked behind his ribs. Then he asked if I’d heard from you.
When I said yes, he relaxed in that subtle, devastating way of his. Thistlewig fluttered to his shoulder and stayed there until he left — which she only does when she senses someone carrying a knot of worry. I think he’s more attuned to me than either of us realize or want to admit.
And then there’s Beatrice.
It annoys me so how she drifts through Elderbrook like a storm cloud in silk. I ran into her outside the apothecary. She gave me that syrupy smile she uses when she’s sharpening her claws and asked, “Feeling any… disturbances lately, Clementine?” as if she hadn’t been eavesdropping on the wind for days and knows there’s something happening thousands of miles away. She knows something is stirring. She just doesn’t know what — and she wants to more than she’ll ever admit. It’s a delicious thought for me.
Please be careful Mari. The ripples from your wardrobe are reaching farther than your Cottage walls. Whatever is gathering itself there is not small, and it is not patient. You must stay cautious. Do not touch the seam. Do not let the wardrobe dictate your pace. And do not let Rowan’s fear become your own — but do not ignore it either.
Write again the moment anything shifts. Even the smallest detail. Especially the smallest detail. And do give Juniper all my sarcastic love, will you?
I’m with you, always my dear— even from across the Pond.
Yours in exasperation, devotion, and whatever storm you need me in- Clementine
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