Dearest Nadia,

I am so glad that we’ve decided to stay in touch; it truly means the world to me. I have always cherished our friendship dearly and am grateful to have had you in my life for over two decades and counting. How have you been since I left? Have your blacksmithing duties been going smoothly? I recall you encountering a spot of trouble just before I left for school. Please know I am wishing for your success — casting a spell for it, even! — just as you do the same, cheering me on with my studies.

Now, I shall of course await your report on the goings-on of our humble little village, but I haven’t forgotten your asking me to write about my studies as well — reliable accounts of magical education are notoriously scarce, after all. So: my first batch of academic updates. Regrettably, course options for novices are rather limited and I’ll be spending quite some time mastering ‘the basics’ before any meaningful opportunity to specialize comes my way. Thus, this first semester might be a tad redundant for me. However, you may have noticed the seal on the outside of the envelope, pressed with the image of a spool of thread. This was done in honor of my current favorite course, which teaches (among other things) the infusion of magic within wax seals! I’ll add that this course is ordinarily only available to more senior students, but I convinced the head of the Department of Enchantments that I was more than qualified to take it. Hopefully my efforts show, and my handiwork looks passable.

Thankfully, things have been less lonely than I’d imagined — I’ve made some wonderful friends amongst my classmates as of late. (Of course, nothing could replace the bond I share with you, Nadia.) I’ve been invited to a rather mysterious party this evening, and I look forward to sharing all of the dirty details with you next time. All in all, I’m pleased to declare my first week of sorceress study a success.

Do share your updates with me. I eagerly await your response.

Most sincerely,

Carmilla

Millie!

So happy to finally have your letter! Couldn’t send one off myself without knowing your school’s address and all that. And speaking of, your mother did pop over to the smithy asking me if I’ve heard from you lately, but unless you advise me otherwise the answer to that question is and will remain “no”. You’re finally out of her clutches, and I’m not tossing you back in. I’ve got you. (Hopefully, this is the last time I’ll need to even bring her up…)

That “trouble” got resolved with my reluctantly accepting some docked pay for the wasted materials. Shit happens, I’ll live. Smithing’s honest work, so I can’t complain there, but goodness gracious is it a number on the arms. Even holding a pen up is tough after nail number four hundred or whatever, but of course I’m gonna pull through to write to you no matter what. Might not have my dad’s endurance, but at least I’ve got my mama’s charm — the village boys sure do happen to take their time at the counter when I’m the one behind it, ha! Nothing happening there, though, you know me. Still waiting for that special someone, and I’m nothing if not patient. In the meantime, nail number four hundred and one tomorrow!

So you’re making magical wax? Sounds cool as hell! Not surprised you’re already talking your way into advanced classes, you don’t let anything stop you. Don’t worry, I kept your seal in good condition and I’m gonna save it as a little keepsake. If you’ve got the funds, you should send me a candle along with your next letter. It can keep me company during night shifts at the forge, and as a bonus I can show it off to Tabatha at the chandlery and make her jealous. She’s been blabbing on and on about getting married to Franz… no idea how that’s supposed to happen. Franz is, you know, Franz. I vaguely remember they hated each other for some reason, too. Wonder what exactly happened? I’d work harder at dodging Tabatha’s blah-blah-blah but it’s tough when our storefronts are literally right next door. You’re free from all of the village blather, Millie; enjoy it!

Hell, I’m already at the end of the page. Alright, I definitely want to hear about that party that must have happened at least a week ago by the time you’re reading this, and also how you like the little gift this letter should be arriving with. Careful, it’s sharp!

Your friend,

Nadia

Dearest Nadia,

To start, your gift was truly a lovely and unexpected surprise! I’m pleased to let you know I’ve already begun incorporating the dagger into my coursework. The engravings in particular are lovely; the vine aesthetic resonates with me, and humbly reminds me of my roots. You might be surprised at how often a knife or similarly sharp object comes in handy for a sorceress’s education. High-quality blades are in fact mandatory equipment for Rituals & Bindings, and I can tell my less appropriately equipped peers in that course are quite envious of me. I hadn’t gotten to the store in time to get one of the more extravagant knives they had for sale, so you saved me a great deal of embarrassment from having to make do with a glorified butter knife. You always look out for me, kind Nadia.

Relatedly, you might have noticed that I’ve enclosed a gift for you as well — a candle for your fleeting moments of leisure and relaxation! I spent quite a while assessing which scent might best encapsulate your very character. My first instinct was something fruity (to convey how sweet you are and how delectable you look) though in the end I felt a woodier, more floral aroma would prove a better match. I hope you enjoy the small bits of dried herbs and clippings from our communal magical garden, one of the best places on this green earth to get deep breaths of fresh air.

Though no lasting social relationships resulted from it, the party I went to last night was outrageously fun. Nearly too much fun, honestly. My new classmates are quite eccentric, and have introduced me to a variety of new… interests. Let’s just say I’ve learned of some fascinating new ways to make use of candles, ceremonial rope, and ritual knives. Oh, how I wish you could have seen the markings adorning our bodies, Nadia — the only way it would have been more heavenly is if you were there. We looked like fine art.

Please do keep sharing all of the town gossip. Collegiate scandals just don't feel the same; perhaps that’s due to my character, rather than the tales themselves? I cannot help but admit I am blithely curious about hearing how things between Franz and Tabatha work out — that is, if they do. If you are in search of a means for deflecting unsolicited prattle, might I suggest sewing or a similar fabric-based craft? It may initially seem a bit too… ‘dainty’ for a blacksmith, I suppose, but I can assure you the skills developed are quite practical. Who knows, they might even help you here and there with smithing? Do let me know if you give it a go! I would love to hear of your creations, and I am more than happy to send you thread and fabric should the town’s supply be short.

Most sincerely,

Carmilla

PS: I’m deeply grateful to you for directing my parents away from me. I can sleep peacefully knowing that my parents and the suitor they intended to sell me to are in deep emotional pain. Moments like these assure me no one is as worthy of my trust as you are, Nadia.

Millie,

Glad you’re a fan of the blade! And also glad it’s getting your classmates jealous, haha. Grandma always said, the two things a lady needs to get by on her own are a good attitude and a better knife. She’s been pushing me around at work a little bit lately, but I dunno, forty or so years in the trade, she’s earned the right to be a little bossy. I’m trying not to take it too personally.

Enough of my complaining, thank you so much for the candle! It’s like having a portable meadow. Great scent and I also love the shade of green it turned out with. If I have one “complaint”, it’s that using it at night for work has the side effect of drowsing me out a little bit, which is not ideal for forge management but has been a lifesaver for my shuteye afterwards, so solidly a net positive. Tabatha, as predicted, went nuts over it. Honestly, the way she was gawking, I’m worried she might try to swipe it from me. Ha! But don’t worry, I keep a close eye on my treasures. I did promise her I would “ask” you to bundle a candle for her along with your next letter to me, so there you go, request relayed. All I’m saying is if you do send her one, put a witch’s curse on that shit. I’ll play none the wiser.

Candles… rope… knives… marked bodies… now I happen to know that you’re a woman of peculiar tastes, Ms. Thornbriar, but please tell me you’re referring to indecencies that don’t involve animal sacrifice or devil worship. Bear in mind that I’m an unremarkable village yokel who has no context for how crazy sorceress school may or may not be, so I’m not actually kidding here. For the record, this is not me mothering you — I’m justifiably concerned for my best friend over here! And if it is just fun and games, no judgment intended at all (plus I’m glad you’re finding folks who are more, y’know, ‘like-minded’ in that sense). You understand where I’m coming from, right?

I wish I had the chance to learn to sew, or anything else, but right now there’s no time for anything — barely have enough to finish this letter! It’s the busy season at the smithy and we’re way behind on repairing all the farming tools and such. I actually have to get back to work, dammit. My dad says “hi, and the village misses you” (which is true). Looking forward to hearing from you soon!

Your friend,

Nadia

Dearest Nadia,

How I always love receiving your letters! I do hope your grandmother hasn’t been too harsh with you. Every woman worth knowing needs a dash of discipline sometimes, but all things in moderation. Despite my overall lack of positive feelings for your grandmother, I happen to agree with her on the practicality of keeping close at hand a well-made knife, be it for utility, ceremony, or perhaps yet more intimate uses. How unfortunate you’re not finding much time to sew; I’m sure with the busy season you also have the usual crowd of rowdy customers begging for your hand in marriage. I do know you, though, and am sure you will survive both the seasonal rush and that band of bothersome bachelors.

I am thrilled to hear you’re enjoying the candle, and that it has quite the relaxing effect on you. I’ve only been in school for a few weeks and could certainly use some relaxation, myself. Unfortunately for our neighbor (or friend? customer? Can’t say I remember) Tabatha, I’m quite caught up with schoolwork and you wouldn’t believe how expensive wax gets after those first few shopping sessions — I’m afraid that fulfilling her request is out of the question. Regardless, I’ll always keep on hand enough wax to seal my letters to you.

I do appreciate your concern for my spiritual well-being, Nadia dear; however I can assure you that I am far too compassionate to sacrifice any living being (save perhaps for any men who are too demanding of your time!) and moreover, none of the goddesses I worship are considered devils per se. That said, one of the girls that enchanted evening seemed quite intent on acting as a sacrifice for the goddesses. In the face of enthusiasm that sincere, well, I simply couldn’t help but humor her. Her appetites proved challenging to satisfy — my gods, Nadia, by the end of the night my hands were red from soreness and I was totally bereft of both candles and matches! But don’t worry; a fellow partygoer noticed my weary efforts and decided to return them to me in kind. Your apprehension is endearing, well-meant, and very much appreciated.

I understand how busy you must be, and I do worry that you might not be getting enough rest. So should you end up with any spare time (or after the rush), I’ve enclosed some thread, needles, and fabric for you to unwind with. I realize the fabric’s pattern may run a bit feminine for your tastes; unfortunately, with every other student now also stocking up on supplies, the campus general store’s selection has become rather limited. I know you’ll make some splendid garments once you are offered the opportunity, and I look forward to hearing of it.

Most sincerely,

Carmilla

Hey Millie,

Unfortunate news on my end, and I’ll get to it in just a bit. First I want to thank you for writing to me, because messages from you always bring my mood up, even when things are low. You’re a real friend, Carmilla. I don’t value that lightly. And I’m honored that you’re keeping wax in reserve just for me — I’m saving every seal you send, they’re all beautiful. I’m sure your last one had a knife design in response to the gift I sent you, but what was the reasoning for the tower on the most recent one? I’m curious.

Pretty sure Tabatha has forgotten all about the candle thing; it’s just nonstop Franz with her, every single conversation. It’s beyond me why she’d settle for someone so… uninspiring. But the heart wants what it wants, or so they say. How’s yours doing? I didn’t plan on prying, but it sounds like you’re getting pretty intimate with your classmates, going by the details you’ve shared so far (which I’ll admit I don’t completely understand — please don’t judge me too harshly. Village yokel, you know how it is). Must be nice, getting to meet a whole bunch of new folks who automatically share a bunch of your interests, meeting up whenever you want, doing whatever you want… and even nicer for you, since they’re (mostly?) all girls!

Sorry, if I sound sore it’s because I went from having not enough free time to having way too much. There was an accident. I got careless. Fire was where it wasn’t supposed to be and time was short. (Sorry I’m not providing a lot of detail, I just don’t want to think about this more than I have to.) I had to make a call — take some personal risk and snuff it all out now, or run for help to fight a bigger fire later. I chose the former, naturally, because I am not putting my family’s livelihood at stake, period. It was my problem, I had to own it.

So: the good news is, I put the whole fire out before things got out of hand. The bad news is, I’m not walking for a while. The bottoms of my feet hurt worse than I can describe, Millie, I simply don’t have the words — and the rest of me isn’t feeling tons better. Medicine helps, but only so much. The good news is, everything should heal. Dr. West says probably two, maybe three months until I’m more or less back to normal. The bad news is, I’m in no condition to operate a bellows, let alone loom over an anvil, so my ass is benched at the counter for the duration of my recovery. Grandma’s beyond pissed. My dad’s going easier on me and trying to keep her anger at bay, but he knows damn well that this was my fault, which indeed it damn well was. I’ve got a hell of a lot of repentance in my future and no income until I’m back to breaking my back at the anvil.

Thankfully, the last piece of news is good news: I’m sewing, just like you were nudging me to (even if it hurts a little, at least for now). The materials you sent me were so nice, I haven’t even touched them yet — with my clumsy, injured fingers I’m sure I’d end up wasting half of it all, maybe more. I’m cutting my teeth on old clothes first, turning them into harmless little pieces. The handkerchief this letter came with is from an old blouse of mine that no longer fits. (Before you ask, yes, it was washed first!) I know it’s not the most professional job in the world, but maybe that little square of scrap will come in useful somehow. Mark my words, I’m going to get good at this. Then, when I’m all healed up, I’m gonna celebrate by sending you something that’ll knock your socks off. Nadia Smith is coming back from this mishap stronger, you hear?

Your lightly roasted friend,

Nadia

Dearest Nadia,

How my heart broke reading your letter; I am truly sorry for your accident. Surely your error must have been an understandable one. And while your stubborn family may be giving you grief to high hell, please know that I send you only unqualified love and sympathy. Myself, my companionship, and all of my heart will be in your life, always. It is truly admirable of you, Nadia, to have prioritized your family over yourself in that ruinous moment (though you must understand my impertinent desire to scold you just a tiny bit). Ah, if only I could be there to dote on you as you recover; I’m certain I would prove far better a caretaker than your callous grandmother or her pushover of an adult son… I do hope my letters will provide you with some measure of comfort, instead. I’ll be sure to send more correspondence, and more frequently, to keep the both of us occupied.

Tragedy aside, I am quite thrilled to hear you have taken up sewing after all! Your handkerchief is lovely and I have even brought it to some of my classes. I must say, quite thrifty of you to make things out of worn out clothes. Having a piece of you around with me brightens my day, to put it mildly. Please don’t worry about washing your raw material, by the by — I know it must be hard enough to push a needle through cloth in your condition. I can always wash your pieces once they arrive, should I deem it necessary. Do let me know, however, when you use the thread and cloth that I sent you. In case you are worried, I’ve enclosed some more materials. These were available at a mighty discount, so no need to feel guilty honing your skills with them. You may notice I’ve also enclosed a candle within the cloth; I’ve improved quite a bit at making them already. This is both to infuse the fabric with a pleasant aroma and further assist you with your relaxation. First and foremost, please prioritize your recovery, of course; in the meantime, I will support your efforts from afar as best I can.

Truly, the standards of “normal” women — those attracted to the unfairer sex — couldn’t possibly be lower. The idea of spending a single moment fawning over someone as drab as Franz (who is so boring I barely remember the man, if I’m being honest) is simply vomit-inducing. I’m unsurprised all of Tabatha’s chatter is about her intended husband, and grateful I’m not around to hear any of it. I’d much rather spend my life with someone adventurous, intriguing, and worthy of my devotion.

You might be thinking some of my classmates fit this standard, what with how intimate I’ve been getting with them. And to be fair, I’ve learned new things about the feminine body I never would have discovered otherwise! The volunteer I marked with dozens upon dozens of cuts, bitemarks, and candle drippings came begging to me the other day seeking something truly ingenious: a painting using colored waxes, with her back to serve as my canvas! Ah, if only I could recreate that art for you, Nadia, it turned out just so nicely. All the same, I don’t see anything quite as lasting as marriage or extended courtship with her. She’s less a lover, and really more of a toy. Almost a doll, but at the same time not quite fit to be one — like you are.

Please know I am thinking of you, always, Nadia; without a doubt you will emerge from this misfortune changed for the better.

Most sincerely,

Carmilla

PS: I do have my reasons for the tower imagery. I'm not eager to spell them out for you, since I’m sure you’re smart enough to figure them out on your own!

Carmilla,

Keep these letters coming, please, I can't tell you how fucking boring my life is. Twelve hours of bed, twelve hours of chair, repeat. Part of me wants to ask you for that doting you wrote about in earnest, but on top of all the other reasons that wouldn’t work it’d be dragging you away from your studies, which is of course not fair at all. I can’t say I don’t miss you though. Are you thinking about coming home for a visit when your semester is over? Or is your school year-round? I feel self-conscious for needing to ask, my yokel levels are still out of control.

I did end up mustering the courage to make a headband out of your first shipment of thread and cloth, and it turned out surprisingly not terrible. On a whim, I’ve decided to let my hair grow out, since I won’t need to worry about it blocking my view of what I’m hammering for a while. We’ll see how it looks when it’s nice and long — I’ll ask Adelaide across the road to send you a little sketch-portrait. Her technique’s getting pretty damn good, and she’s burning with ambition just like you, Carmilla. Don’t be surprised to hear one day that she’s made it big in one of those fancy pants art schools over in the capital. Meanwhile, on the less tolerable end of our neighbors, who else but Tabatha… she says she’s expecting Franz to propose to her any day now, but also won’t explain why, like it’s an inside joke she’s keeping all to herself. Completely beyond me, and I’m bored of trying to puzzle it all out.

Alright enough of the tedious shit. We need to talk about that candle you sent me, and also the shenanigans you’ve been getting up to with your… admirers? The women you’re alternatively toying with and being toyed by, whatever we’re calling them. I’ll admit I was initially a little embarrassed reading that description of y’all’s intimacy, since it was, well, risqué is probably the most polite way to put it. Then it was time to start writing you back, but I was stumped on what to say, so I lit your new candle to test the scent while thinking over my approach. Before I knew it I was sleeping like a log. Then I started dreaming…

…and somehow I was there, at one of your steamy sacrilegious roleplay parties. Like, physically present, awestruck, watching all of your classmates getting- actually I’m going to stop describing the action there, just in case my imagination is somehow more adventurous than your reality. I almost didn’t figure out that I was dreaming at all — the giveaway was that I was walking on my own two feet like normal, and I eventually noticed. You were there, of course, leading me by the hand, showing me things. Telling me the girls’ names, listing off where you met this one or that one, what classes you have together, all of these mundane little details (none of which I remembered when I woke up later). I couldn’t say a word, only listen and watch. Honestly I felt… guilty might be the best word? Like my spectating was some kind of imposition, even though everyone clearly did not give a shit (if they even noticed I was there at all). The last thing you showed me was your wax “painting” on some tall brunette’s back, which was of a star-filled night sky with a crescent moon hanging in it…

…at which point I suddenly woke up: bedridden, alone, and confused as all hell in quaint old Amberfield. I double-checked your letter immediately, and sure enough there was a crescent moon on the seal this time. Be honest: was this your doing? Because I’m not upset if it is. I was uncomfortable and all but like, nothing bad happened, it was just a dream. And I trust you to keep this to yourself either way, of course. Just so, so strange, you know? I’m gonna wait to use this purple candle again until I’ve heard back from you, just in case. Included with this package should be a little bag I made from a random dress I never wear anymore, not washed as per your specifications. My Aunt Nessa offered to launder the dress for me — like last time — but this time, I politely declined. I probably shouldn’t be enabling you like this but I definitely owe you for all of this attention, so have fun and feel free not to explain why you made that request.

Your friend,

Nadia