Clemmy: My steady storm‑whisper of a friend,
The Cottage has gone quiet.
Not peaceful. Not relieved. Just… quiet in that way a forest goes still before the first crack of lightning or the way it silences when something is lurking in the shadows. I keep listening for the usual creaks, the opinionated sighs — but she’s holding her breath. Watching. Waiting. Like a Sentient guarding the walls. She knows something I believe.
I’ve been working on the bed frame for Mrs. Alderidge’s niece, and even that feels strange. The wood behaves, but it behaves too well. No knots resisting me. No grain shifting under my palm. It’s like the project is trying not to draw attention to itself, which is unsettling in its own right. You know how wood gets when it’s hiding something — polite to the point of suspicion. And the way the varieties band together, it’s infuriating but also admirable. I can think of a few people who could take lessons in loyalty like this, present company excluded of course ♥
The wardrobe hasn’t moved. The seam hasn’t widened. But the air around it feels… thicker, hotter and dare I say more aware… My eyes and ears are open my darling friend.
I’ve taken to working outside instead, where the light is good and the Cottage seems less intent on eavesdropping over the breeze and the birds. Even Marmalade has stopped doing her dramatic nightly patrols. She curls up beside me like a shadow with opinions and refuses to leave my side like a miniature Sentient ready for battle, if need be, but preferably not because she does need her beauty rest which I understand completely.
Your letter about Elias made me smile in that way that hurts a little. I can picture him hovering in your doorway, trying to look casual while his entire soul leans toward you. And Thistlewig choosing his shoulder? That’s practically a declaration. You’re practically betrothed. You two are dancing around something, Clem — and I’m not sure which of you is more terrified of stepping on the other’s toes. I for one however am enjoying the show immensely. In fact, let me grab a bit more tea to finish this up with. I have the most delicious blend that literally tastes like Christmas in a cup. Don’t be jealous my dear. I’ve already sent a package your way ♥
Where was my mind…. Ah yes, Beatrice… Of course she’s circling you.
I can feel Beatrice’s presence here; through the way your letters sharpen when you mention her. She’s drifting through Elderbrook like a storm cloud in silk, sniffing around for secrets she hasn’t earned. If she’s asking about “disturbances,” it’s because she’s sensed the shift but can’t trace the thread back to me. That must be driving her mad.
She knows something is happening. She just doesn’t know what — and she wants to more than she’ll ever admit.
But here’s the strangest part, Clem:
Last night, the Cottage finally made a sound.
Not a groan. Not a creak. A tap — soft, deliberate — from the direction of the wardrobe. It startled me and I’m not entirely sure where the sound came from.
Just once. Just enough to say: I’m still here.
And then nothing.
It felt like the end of a chapter. Not the end of the story. It’s planning something Clemmy. And I’m afraid to even think what it could be.
I don’t know what June will bring, but I can feel the shift coming — like the moment between inhale and exhale, when the world holds still before choosing what happens next.
Write soon, my heart‑steadying anchor. The quietness is getting louder.
Yours in sawdust, suspicion, and whatever magic is gathering at the edges, Marigold
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