#the true story of a poor writer and her unwanted patron

[kajsa-writes-sometimes]

Kajsa's Writings°

These stories and poems are written when I found a prompt to tempting to pass by. Most of them are poems written as a response to the Flash Fiction Friday prompts, some of them are written on the basis of other prompts found mostly on Tumblr.

You can read the full collection on Movellas or you can read the individual poems and short stories right here on tumblr

Genre: Historical Fiction

It features a slow burn romance, an independent MC in the shape of Miss Angelina Ravenloft, a true gentleman, and a rather long mail correspondence

Resume: Miss Angelina Ravenloft wants a life of her own. She wants to decide where she lives, what she thinks, who her friends are, and most importantly, who to love. All of this would have been impossible if not for a group of friends filled with supportive, equal minded people.

While Angelina makes a life for herself in Hemwick with the help of the young vicar, Jean Habernath, Miss Amanda Pailey, and Mrs. Miranda Marlowe, her writings attract the attention of the Duke of Northern Hemwick.

When Angelina receives a letter in which the Duke offers to become her patron, her life takes a turn she could not have predicted. Soon she will become a first hand witness to the drama surrounding the young Duke as if she hadn't had enough to deal with already.

Amanda Pailey is getting married, a lady from the church has been trying to set Miss Ravenloft and the Vicar up for years, the new secretary at the paper immediately caught her eye, and she still needs to find time to write her next novel.

Follow the struggles of Miss Angelina Ravenloft as life seems to keep trying to derail her efforts to live her life on her own terms.

Master list: You can find the master list with a full list of the chapter and links to all the stuff behind the scenes

Movellas: You can read the full story here

This is a poetry collection focussing on the experience of discovering you are on the asexual and aromantic spectrum.

You can find the master list of all the poems here or you can read the full collection on Movellas.

Genre: Supernatural

Tropes and trickers: Superheroes, villains, love story, bisexual, lesbian, mentions of psychological abuse and abusive relationships

Resume: Mandy moves to a new city to get away from the person who are making her life a living hell. Getting a new appartment and a new job seemed like a good solution, but it turns out dissapearing is not an easy thing to do.

The Spider is trying to spin her web as discretely as possible. She likes staying in the shadows where people aren't aware of her influence, but when a new hero comes to town she is soon thrust into the public eye.

Master list: You can find the master list with a full overview of all the chapters right here

Movellas: You can read the full story here

Master List: Old Heroes

Genre: Fantasy of varying degrees

This is a collection of interweaved short stories. Some are based on prompts, and some are written because a story needed to be told.

The stories follows an old team of adventures who have now settled down. Sometimes they need to pick up their swords again to help make the world a better place, sometimes they seek out eachother because no one else understands their pain, and sometimes they forget that once upon a time they were heroes even though the world is keen to remember.

Master list: You can find the master list with a full list of the current stories and some extra information here

Kajsa Reads

I like reading as much as I like writing but I'm sadly as bad as keeping track of what I want to read as I am to update my writings regularly. To try and fix this and at least be able to find the stories I want to read, I've made a list to keep track.

If you need something good to read, please check out some of the stories on there. You can find the list here.

°This list will be update regularly until it is up to date. It will then be kept up to date as new stuff joins the old

[kajsa-writes-sometimes]

I've updated the resume for my current WIP. I've actually written a couple of chapters too, but they are too long to be published on Tumblr so I'll have to figure out what to do.

Until I figure out how to publish them here, I'll leave you with this blurb (I'm actually pretty pleased with it. What do you think?)

Miss Angelina Ravenloft wants a life of her own. She wants to decide where she lives, what she thinks, who her friends are, and most importantly, who to love. All of this would have been impossible if not for a group of friends filled with supportive, equal minded people.

While Angelina makes a life for herself in Hemwick with the help of the young vicar, Jean Habernath, Miss Amanda Pailey, and Mrs. Miranda Marlowe, her writings attract the attention of the Duke of Northern Hemwick.

When Angelina receives a letter in which the Duke offers to become her patron, her life takes a turn she could not have predicted.

Soon she will become a first hand witness of the drama surrounding the young Duke as if she hadn't had enough to deal with already.

Amanda Pailey is getting married, a lady from the church has been trying to set her and the Vicar up for years, the new secretary at the paper immediately caught her eye, and she still needs to find time to write her next novel.

Follow the struggles of Miss Angelina Ravenloft as life seems to keep trying to derail her efforts to live her life on her own terms.

[kajsa-writes-sometimes]

Chp. II: Miss Amanda Pailey

The door closes behind her. A dejected sigh left her lips as she pulled the cloak closer around her shoulders. Apparently not a single soul in the entire city hadn't read about her recent fiasco. Mrs. Milligan had caught her up just as she was about to leave the house and told her that she shouldn't fear losing her job. They had always been very fond of her and what the critics wrote about her book wouldn't sway their opinion of her, but - here Mrs. Milligan made a point out of giving her hand a tight squeeze - Mr. Milligan didn't want his children to get any ideas so if she could avoid bringing her personal views into the tutoring of the siblings, they would appreciate it.

Angelina shook her head and brushed an imaginary dust pellet off her dress. She had promised not to bring up the content of her writings while under the Milligan's roof, and then Mrs. Milligan had sent her off with a big smile and a small purse containing her fee.

The Milligan siblings had been under her tutoring since the previous summer, and she had had the pleasure of teaching the little scoundrels the basics of the written language, algebra, and sewing (although the latter of the three was restricted to the sister).

The Milligans moved to the city less than a generation ago, and both the parents still bore a gruff air about them. Mr. Milligan's hands were still large and ruff from numerous hours of hard labor, and Mrs. Milligan lacked the refinement of someone who had been born into old money. For Angelina (and probably the rest of the world too) it was painfully clear that the Milligans were nothing but a good impersonation of a well-off family.

For Angelina it made little difference. In actuality, she had little opinion of her employer as long as they paid her fee on time, and didn't fire her out of fear for what being associated with her name might mean for the family's good name.

As she turned down a narrow street, the clocks struck six o'clock and she could have cursed herself had she had the breath to do so. When the first chime sounded, she spread up in the hopes that she might beat the nature of time. The fifth stroke resonated between the yellow brick houses as she turned into the stairway of her friend's pensionate.

"I'm terribly sorry I'm late," she gasped as soon as the door opened. "Mrs. Milligan insisted we talk just as I was about to leave!"

"Don't fret about it, Angie. If I didn't know you by now, I think we should reevaluate our friendship. We have, after all, known each other for eight years."

Miss Amanda Pailey pulled her into the tiny, but cozy rooms and helped her friend get out of the cape.

"I know, I know- you are right as always, my dear," Angelina said as she straightened her back.

As Amanda ordered her friend to take a seat on a light red shasilong, she pulled together a tray of sandwiches and hot pies she had bought just that afternoon. It had been almost half a month since the friends had seen eachother last and much had happened for them both.

As the two young ladies nibbled away on their dinner, they both took the opportunity to look over the other. Angelina thought her friend looked as if she was glowing: her hair looked healthier and there was only the shadow of sleeplessness in her face. Amanda on the other hand couldn't help but notice how her friend's dress seemed almost half a size too big for her frame, and how her cheekbones stood out even clearer than they should.

"Please tell me you are eating probably," Amanda said as she lifted another pie onto her friend's plate.

"Always so worried about me. I'm eating all I can."

"Don't forget I know you well, and eating all you can is definitely not the same as eating enough."

Angelina avoided her friend's gaze as she took another bite of the pie. A sweet taste filled her mouth, and a soft moan escaped her against her will.

"Is it honey glazed pork with mashed potatoes?" she asked her friend.

"Well, at that price I wouldn't trust it being pork, but yes. I got an extra in the bag, and you are taking it home."

"I couldn't possibly-" Angelina started, but she was cut off.

"And I won't take no for an answer. I'm getting married in three months and I wouldn't want my bridesmaid to look like a walking corpse now, would I?"

Happy for the easy escape, Angelina grabbed the mention of her friend's wedding to guide the attention away from herself.

"So how is it going with your Mr. Harrington?"

"We've found a church with a kind, young priest who is willing to wed us. It's just down Almond Street. You must have seen it when you go round that way. I admit it looks rather dull from the outside, but the vicar has set a date and promised that the organist will play what we ask of him as long as it's nothing unseemly."

"Have you thought about where you are going to live after the ceremony? I doubt Mr. Harrington would be welcome here," Angelina asked.

"We haven't yet, but Pete is looking for pensinates that we can afford that will let us live together." Amanda sent her friend a small smile laden with all the sadness that her friend newingered just beneath the surface.

"You'll find something, I promise," she said, but both women were well aware that she was in no position to uphold her promise.

"Now we are on the topic of the future, how is your novel coming along?"

Amanda rose from her place and took the tray out. Angelina turned her head and rested an arm on the back of the chaiselong so she could watch her friend prepare a pot of tea.

They were a few years apart, but in the eight years their friendship had lasted, it had never been a problem. In all honesty there really wasn't that much of a difference between being twenty one and twenty three years old.

The greatest difference was the fact that Amanda had been engaged to Mr. Pete Harrington for the last three and a half year, and that Angelina had only ever had the irregular fling and known the fleeting butterflies of a summer's love. Angelina knew that if Amanda had had any say in the matter, they would have been happily married a long time ago, but her aunt had insisted the young man who had claimed the heart of her niece prove that he would be able to provide for his wife before they entered wedlock.

Three years later Mr. Pete Harrington had a job that had in prestige what it lacked in excitement. After having worked at an office in town for half a year and a half, Mr. Harrington had been hired by the University. A year later he had gotten a permanent position as the head secretary of the University Enrollment Office, and although Hemwick University wasn't as well known as Oxford, it attracted students from all across Europe. With the job secured Amanda and Mr. Harrington had once more approached Amanda's aunt and she had finally given the young couple her blessing. Now it was a matter of months before the wedding, and Amanda would be known as Mrs. Harrington by the age of twenty three.

"Well, you've got nothing to say? That doesn't seem like you," Amanda said as she returned to her seat.

"I'm terribly sorry, but my mind seems to be all over the place these days," Angelina shrugged as she thought about the Duke's letter that still lay on the table next to her typewriter. "It appears that there is no one who hasn't heard about my recent flob, and half the world seems keen to remind me that I have chosen a path not suited for young women."

"I'm truly sorry to hear so, but we both know that is not what is bothering you," Amanda said and fixed a curl that had escaped her intricate hairdo.

Angelina rose to her feet and started walking in circles on the floor. Writhing her hands in front of her, she considered if she should tell her friend about her correspondence with the Duke. None of them lived under the assumption that they told each other everything, but the length of their relationship meant that they shared most things.

Maybe a light version of the truth would do? She stopped in the middle of the floor and met her friend's warm, brown eyes.

"I received a letter, you see, from a reader who wanted to tell me how much he enjoyed my work."

Amanda lifted the cup to her lips wondering where this story would lead. She couldn't see what her friend found so upsetting about a from an admirer of her work.

"And I'm somewhat afraid that I might have offended him with my reply to his letter."

"Would it be so bad if you have offended this man?"

"I fear so. He has a good reputation and if he decided to smear my book, it could end my career faster than you would need to make a cup of tea!"

Angelina made something that resembled but wasn't quite a pirouette on the spot.

"Oh, wouldn't the critics love it if I should put down my pen and return to the quiet life of an upstanding woman!"

"They probably would, but I doubt you have anything to fear. I am sure you fret for nothing, and that he will be so awestruck by the reply you send him that he'll have no time to be offended." Amanda rose and placed a hand on her friend's upper arm. "Now let's sit down and I'll tell you how the wedding planning is going. That is sure to take your mind off things."

And so the two young women once more took a seat, and for an evening some of the tension left Angelina's shoulders. As she walked home later that night, she almost succeeded at convincing herself that she would soon return to her daily life with no more interruptions in the form of handwritten letters on cream coloured paper.

The entire story can be found on Wattpad as I slowly update or by following the links in this master post

[kajsa-writes-sometimes]

Master list: The True Story of a Poor Writer and Her Unwanted Patron

For the first time in eons I'm actually writing. It's slow process bit by bit, but I am writing. If you want to tag along and bee sure not to miss anything, the story can be found on Wattpad or it can be read by following the chapter overview under the cut

Genre: Historical romance

It features a slow burn romance, an independent MC in the shape of Miss Angelina Ravenloft, a true gentleman, and a rather long mail correspondence

This is the blurb: Miss Angelina Ravenloft wants a life of her own. She wants to decide where she lives, what she thinks, who her friends are, and most importantly, who to love. All of this would have been impossible if not for a group of friends filled with supportive, equal minded people. 

While Angelina makes a life for herself in Hemwick with the help of the young vicar, Jean Habernath, Miss Amanda Pailey, and Mrs. Miranda Marlowe, her writings attract the attention of the Duke of Northern Hemwick. 

When Angelina receives a letter in which the Duke offers to become her patron, her life takes a turn she could not have predicted. 

Soon she will become a first hand witness of the drama surrounding the young Duke as if she hadn't had enough to deal with already. 

Amanda Pailey is getting married, a lady from the church has been trying to set her and the Vicar up for years, the new secretary at the paper immediately caught her eye, and she still needs to find time to write her next novel. 

Follow the struggles of Miss Angelina Ravenloft as life seems to keep trying to derail her efforts to live her life on her own terms. 

Where can I read it? You can read the full story on Movellas or the individual chapter right here on Tumblr

Chapter overview can be found under the cut

Part 1: The Dispute About the Question of Patronage

Chp. 1: A Polite Refusal

Chp. 2: Miss Amanda Pailey

Chp. 3: The Second Letter

[kajsa-writes-sometimes]

Chp. III: The Second Letter

When the morning post came around, the clicking sound of a typewriter being used at an almost inhuman speed filled Angelina's home. Outside the world was wide-awake, and the concentrated writer let the bustling sounds of the street lul her into a world of her own. 

Maybe that was why she didn't hear the knock at her door. No matter the reason, the thick, cream coloured envelope that dumbed down into the light grey letterbasket on the inside of the door went unnoticed for several hours. 

Around noon she rose to her feet and stretched as far as she could reach. Her neck cracked and there came a popping sound from her right shoulder. 

"I think it is just about time for lunch," she mumbled to herself as she looked at the pile of papers that lay neatly stacked next to her typewriter. "This is as good a time as any and let's face it, you are not going to run off in my absence."

Had anyone been around to hear her, they might have found it rather odd that she talked to no one in particular - and even more odd that she sometimes led entire conversations with her characters or herself. But no one was around to listen and as long as she did not expect an answer, Angelina really didn't have any concerns about her sanity. 

Trudging over to the corner that substituted for the kitchen, she found a plate and placed half the pie Amanda had insisted she bring home back in the bag. She would eat half a pie now and half a pie at dinner, and then she would buy groceries on her way back from the newspaper tomorrow. There was, afterall, a pile of letters with her name on it, and she had a week's worth of columns she had to turn in. 

With the plate in one hand and a fork with bent teeth in the other, she turned around to walk back to the table. Out of the corner of her eye she caught sight of something laying in her letter basket, and then she bent over slightly to place the plate next to the half finished first draft of her newest novel. Grabbing the chair, she was about to move it half a foot to the right so she wouldn't risk spilling pie on the pages– and then she froze. 

Turning her head her eyes landed on the cream coloured envelope that awaited her attention. Her blood ran cold at the sight of it. As she walked over and lifted it from the basket, she debated what she dreaded most: A threat of ruining her career, or the possibility that he would stick to insulting her in the privacy of their correspondence. 

How many letters did it even take for one to call it a correspondence? This was the second letter she received and counting her own reply that made up a correspondence of three letters. 

Whatever the Duke had written to tell her, the sheer thickness of the envelope told her it would not be a short letter. It was almost as thick as her pinky, but if he wrote on the same paper he had used the last time, it was probably only half the pages it would have taken her to get the same volume. 

She carefully slid the letter open. She flipped through the pages before she started to read. 

"How many pages does one need?" she murmured as she leaned back on the chair and stretched her feet out in front of her. "He might as well have sent me a novel. Now let's see– where to start…"

She found the first page and began reading. 

Dear Miss Ravenloft, 

Let me begin by putting your mind at ease. Your letter was as delicately formulated as your novels, and I dare say that only a brute would be offended by what you wrote on those pages. Hopefully this short paragraph has given you one less burden to bear, and I hope that by the end of this letter you will let me lift more than this one burden from your shoulders. 

Reading over your reply I realise, my first letter must have been unclear on several accounts. Please forgive me, Miss Ravenloft, for the misunderstanding and the confusion my first letter created. I will take it as a testimony to why you are the writer and I, a mere admirer of your work!

On the following pages I will try to clear up any misunderstandings created by my last letter, and then I will try to calm your mind on the matter of the not entirely unrelated business you mentioned in your reply to my aforementioned letter. 

You wrote that you do not feel deserving of the support I offered you — and I want to empathize that the support I'm offering is in no way restricted to financial aid — if all I got out of it was the measly pages of your books. 

This is not true. Your books are by no known standard measly, as you like to call them. I enjoy your writings to such an extent that I have copies of them in my library both at my land estate, my champers at Hemwick University, and in my London residence. 

Angelina stopped reading to do the math. If he had bought three copies of her previous publications that would mean he was responsible for– that couldn't be right! She did the math over in her head, but she did not get a different number. 

"I'm just going to ignore how much of my revenue that adds up to," she mumbled. Before she picked up the letter once more, she stuck a piece of pie in her mouth and started chewing. 

If my word is not enough to convince you that I would be satisfied to support you knowing that it would help you continue to write then this story must surely convince you. If you are still hesitant to accept my offer without doing anything in return, I will make you a second proposal: Continue to write your stories and let me read the novels when they are published. Apart from this I will ask you to spend a week with me in London in the summer, and a week at my land estate in the winter. On top of this you will agree to meet with me when I stay at Hemwick University. All of this will naturally take place under the supervision of a chaperone of your own choosing– it could be a lady friend of yours, one of your relatives, or maybe a young woman from my household staff. 

I think we can agree that this arrangement will solve the problem of you not working hard enough to earn your keep. If there is something about my proposal, you find unsuitable or that you fear will reflect badly on your reputation, please let me know in your reply so that we can change the offending detail to your liking. 

I will — in one of my coming letters — attach a list of possible dates for your first visit at my London estate. I know there is a little more than four months until the start of the season, but I will need to inform my staff that two extra rooms will have to be prepared for your arrival. 

Now, before you start arguing about the amount I offered in my first letter, I will not budge. Before reaching out to you, I consulted my sources — in whom I have the greatest trust — who let me know how much a respectable pensionate costs nowadays. I know the amount I offered is somewhat higher than this amount, but I doubt you are able to live off of your words alone and surely you need money to spend on both paper and ink to create your stories. 

If you have any concerns about whether or not the agreed amount will be enough to cover your expenses, you should write to me immediately. The same should be the case if you find yourself in need of covering unplanned expenses. I will set up a bank account in a bank of your liking once I receive your reply to this letter. If you have no preferred bank, I will set up an account for you in my preferred branch. 

This part of the letter took far longer to write than anticipated so I shall try and make the following as short as possible. 

I have reached out to some associates of mine who know the industry. They have let me know that there is a pall of scepticism when it comes to your work, but they do not see it as an impossible task to get your next novel published through a “publisher in the Empire” as you formulated it in your letter. It might take some convincing, but my associates assure me that it is nothing a well formulated letter will not fix. My associates have collected a list of publishers they feel would be possible to persuade. I considered sending it along, but I feel it is better we discuss it face to face so that you can have some influence on the discussion with a publisher of your choice. 

I hope this letter has put your mind to ease and answered some of the misunderstandings and uncertainties left behind by my first letter to you. Please take your time to consider these new additions to our agreement and if necessary write for clarification. 

I will be awaiting your reply, 

Northern Hemwick

As she reached the end of the letter, Angelina resorted to stare blankly out the window. It wasn’t much she could see, but the soot covered, yellow bricks of the opposing building, and her eyes registered even less. She had been convinced, her letter had been easy enough to understand, but the rejection of the Duke’s offer to become her patron had apparently gone unnoticed– or at the least ignored. 

“No, I can not handle this today,” she said as she stood. “I will send a note to Jean and get his opinion on the matter.” 

She placed her empty plate and the fork on the stove. Still standing she grabbed a pen and scribbled a short note on a discarded piece of paper that she promptly stuck into an envelope. The door smacked close behind her as she went out to find someone who could deliver her message to Jean. 

“If things continue like this, I won’t have to worry about a publisher; I will never get the chance to finish writing my story!” 

A/N: I really enjoyed writing this chapter, and I hope you enjoyed it half as much as I did. Please let me know by leaving a note, a like, or by reblogging this chapter - I'm grateful for all appreciation that comes my way

The entire story can be found on Wattpad or by following the links in this master post

[kajsa-writes-sometimes]

I've started writing a new story after not writing for nearly two years. The story is about a young writer, Miss Angelina Ravenloft, who fights for her independence and her right to write.

It is a historical fiction that takes place in the late 19th century, and it features among other things a strong, female lead, a supportive friend group who to some degree substitutes Angelina's family, a slow burn, and a rather long mail correspondence that one might have taken affront to had it not been so unbelievably polite.

Chp. I: A Polite Refusal

At first she had thought it a poorly planned practical joke (although she had had a hard time seeing the joke in it). The thick, cream coloured envelope with her name and address printed on the front had made it clear that it had been meant for her, and although the envelope itself would have cost more than she dared think about, she would not have put it past her friends to play such a joke on her.

And then she opened it. Letting the letter opener slide along the pages inside, she let herself enjoy the sound of good quality paper being cut open. The envelope was not specially thick, and she had expected to find no more than the cheapest sheet of paper folded neatly inside. It would have contained an invitation to join her friends for a drink just that evening over which they would discuss the matters of the world tucked away in one of said friends' cosy rooms. Or maybe it would have been the short, cryptic scripples that Jean always sent her as he started jotting down his newest philosophical musings.

What actually met her, she would never have known to expect. Considering the content of her writings, she would have understood if the words gracing the thick page filled with big, swirly letters had been a passive aggressive attack on her work. But the letter was not a critique of her work; some might say it was just the opposite.

As soon as she had read the words written on the page, it slipped through her fingers and she collapsed in the nearest chair. With her heart racing in her throat, she pressed her closed fists against her forehead. If she ignored the letter hard enough, it might disappear. But it's generally hard to ignore something when you keep looking at it, and she couldn't help herself and thus her gaze strayed to the paper every few seconds.

"By the grace of God," she murmured as she bent to pick up the letter. "Is he not aware that we live in the age of the typewriter?"

The swirling, handwritten letters almost felt like an insult aimed at her person, but the tone of the letter was anything but.

"Hadn't he written it by hand, it would have been so much easier to form a reply."

She looked at the mess next to her own typewriter that stood on a well worn table facing a tiny window that let in the stray rays of afternoon sun. What would she write on? It was painfully clear that she had to write her reply in the same manner as the inquiry, but what on earth would she write it on?

She had not planned to receive a letter from the highly esteemed Duke of Northern Hemwick. If she had she might have spent a little extra on paper instead of buying the cheapest she could find. But alas she had not been planning to receive such a letter, and maybe–, maybe she thought, the seethroughness of her paper would scare off the Duke before this ridiculous business reached the ears of her beloved friends. If not, she was quite sure she would never hear the end of it.

Sitting down she scrambled for a pen. She raffled through her drawers until a tiny veil of ink emerged from underneath the early drafts of her latest novel. As she dipped the tip of the pen in the ink, a contemplative look crossed her face. No matter how intently she stared at the paper, no words sprang from the tip of the pen

"You have written several wellrenovened novels, Angelina. You must certainly be able to write a reply to something as simple as a letter," she mumbled to herself and with those words she started to write.

My Lord Duke,

I thank you for the kind letter that you sent me. It warms my heart that you enjoyed the story that I have so meticulously spun, and that you took so well to the fate of the characters that you felt inclined to write to me and profess your admiration for my work.

Reading over your letter, I confess I barely believe my own eyes and that I have had to read it many times before writing my reply. I hardly dare to trust my own eyes, but my name on the envelope and yours at the bottom of the page written black on white (or more like cream coloured, she thought) at last convinced me of the truth of the letter.

I will forever be grateful that you, when reading my writings, have decided to offer me your patronage. I can scarcely explain what such an honour means to me, but I am afraid I find myself unable to accept your proposal.

The financial support you so kindly offer would weigh heavily on my mind, and I fear it would soon turn into a burden I am not strong enough to carry.

It is not, as I realise reading over my own words that my letter might be misinterpreted as, because of ungratefulness that I find myself inclined to refuse your gracious offer. It is rather that I would feel shameful of myself should I accept your offer to take on the role of my patron when I have nothing to offer in return but the measly pages of my books.

Please forgive me if I am too straight forward, but I confess to you that I am doubtful any novel of mine will be accepted by a publisher in the Empire after the critics wrote so shamelessly about my latest publication!

I trust that you are as sensible as your reputation states and therefore will bear no hard feelings at my refusal to agree to let you be my patron. My mind is burdened by the thought of you thinking any less of me on the basis of this letter, but my heart tells me this is the right path to follow.

I remain Your Grace's most obedient servant,

Miss A. Ravenloft

She lifted the pen from the page and let her eyes scan over the pages she just finished writing. In comparison to the letter from the Duke her letter looked rather– sad. Her letters weren't as elegant and the paper did no favours to the content of the pages. She shook her head and stood to fetch an envelope; it would be no better than this.

She folded the pages and stood a moment before she sealed the envelope. Turning it over in her hands, she lifted the pen once more and addressed the letter to His Grace the Duke of Northern Hemwick.

Grappling her scarf and cape from the rack by the door, she decided to head out. She saw no reason to delay the inevitable any longer than necessary so she sat off with a determined look and headed straight for the post office.

The entire story can be found on Wattpad as I slowly update or by following the links in this master post

Please feel free to leave comments and feedback