My doll Nadia,

How shocked I was to read your letter — though I suppose I shouldn’t be too surprised, in retrospect. Perhaps I’ve been at this academy for too long, surrounded only by women who speak the same language of passion I do; I must have forgotten about the conservative sensibilities held by so many back at the village. You ought to know that many of my classmates (now ‘associates’, as I’ve taken to calling them) have looked upon me with vitriol not terribly unlike yours, only to have their faces and attitudes change literally overnight. Perhaps things will go similarly with the two of us? I can only hope so, for you must understand my passion runs deeper than any letter, word, or brush stroke can contain. Clearly, you hold some passion for me as well. Anger and lust are ever so closely linked, after all.

My heart hurt as I read your message to me. Each and every word felt like a stab to the chest. While I’m grateful to you for upholding your commitment to honesty, this is nevertheless a pain I don’t appreciate, doll. I am offering to be your teacher, your guide into this life — into your new life, Nadia! Do reflect upon this before sending me another such message. Bear in mind that this process will be a significant emotional drain on myself, as well.

I apologize that my words of passion struck you so forcefully, and in such an unexpected way. Please be assured this was not my intention at all, dear Nadia. Rather, I took your previous letter as an invitation. You want to develop feelings for me, and said so plainly. I don’t, in fact, recall you specifically requesting I ‘be gentle’ with you; and even if you did, why would I do that? One says ‘falling in love’, not ‘gently gliding down into love’. Falls might break a few bones, clearly the case here. But be assured that wounds heal — and there is indeed a method to my madness, whether or not you’re capable of seeing it.

You are clearly very upset at the prospect of doing homework for me. I am rather perplexed as to why. Maybe in my new life as an academic I’ve forgotten that it’s not considered standard to give your friends assignments to be completed on their own time? It seems only logical to me. I can tell you I am thriving quite well here (though your letters remind me how much I deeply miss you and, to some extent, the village). But you want to learn, right? You want to learn how to feel love and devotion? They say that practice is the best way to accomplish your goals, and well, I simply thought a helpful nudge in the right direction would help. You are treading into this territory with a blindfold on after all. If attraction to women (not necessarily to me, specifically) doesn’t come naturally, then of course none of this will feel natural. All the same, like anyone seeking to learn a foreign tongue you must immerse, converse, and assimilate if you wish to become fluent!

To address one specific comment, you compared my desired arrangement to slavery. Let me be emphatically clear: it is not, and I shudder at this abominable comparison. Slavery is a moral wrong and something I will not seek to emulate, ever, period. Rather, the acts of service I’m proposing you undertake are for our mutual benefit, you see: You do things for me, and we both feel good about you having done them. If it sounds insane, unnatural, please know it will feel natural. It will. All you have to do is trust me, Nadia, and is that really so difficult for you to do?

It is clear that my past letter put you in quite the state of shock. Your tone reads as frantic and unwell. Have you been getting enough sleep? Has your family been aggravating you too much? Do ensure you get enough rest, my doll, because if any of my classmates with whom I’m intimate spoke to me as you have, they would either soon regret it, never see my face again, or both.

Last of all, as to your question for the candle: It is a candle. It smells nice. Our garden grew back in again and I wanted to grab some herbs and flowers for it before they were all claimed. Believe me when I tell you the garden was picked clean almost the instant after I’d collected the things I needed. The wax itself was rather expensive too, I should have you know. While I can’t demand that you make use of the gifts I send you, I’d appreciate it if you refrained from implicitly accusing me of using them to manipulate you.

I eagerly await your next writing, Nadia doll. Perhaps you should take a tad longer to write, so you don’t send something you regret.

your Witch,

Sorceress Carmilla

Sorceress Carmilla,

I took your advice and spent a few extra days on this response. This is actually my third try, and I hope it goes right this time. Before anything else, I’m not sorry for what I wrote in my last letter and I stand by most of it, but I’ll readily acknowledge that it was harsh. Much harsher than it needed to be, anyway. I can tell you’re upset, but also aren’t letting it knock you off course with me — I’ve gotta say, that is one of your finest traits, Carmilla. Nothing gets in the way of something you’ve set your sights on, least of all your own emotions in the heat of the moment. Me, obviously, plenty of room for improvement in that area. Reading your letter really drove that home for me. I’m confident I’ll get to a better place with your help, so thank you. Frankly, I miss you. I think I miss you so much that I just got angry at you, as if that would improve the situation somehow. It really warmed my heart to read that you still miss me, too.

Just so you know where things are at with me personally: I can walk (slowly), and I’m getting decent shuteye most nights, but I’m smithing again. Really not happy about it, if I’m being honest. Dad brokered a compromise between me and the old bitch who birthed him, where I start at an hour of work each day and ramp up from there as my recovery draws to a close. I had the sense that was the best deal I’d get and I don’t really feel like looking for another place to sleep when I can barely walk across the house in one go, so I took it. I can’t even say I’m glad to be at my old trade again, because I’m getting frequent, intrusive reminders that I should still be resting the entire time. There you go. Still sewing like crazy when I can, but now that free time’s gonna be scarce again I’ve decided to just go ahead and get started on my last big project for the foreseeable future, even though I don’t feel ready — just to make sure I get it done in time. Adelaide, helpful as ever, is working with me to put it all together. Don’t you start asking her for hints, now, it’s a surprise!

Adelaide also went ahead and drew you up a full illustration, enclosed, of me in the dress I recently finished, plus a few other accessories. Everything I’m wearing in this picture was put together by me using fabric and thread you sent over, Carmilla. Even the shoes. I almost asked Adelaide to make a copy of the picture for me to keep for myself because… well. I’d be interested in hearing what you have to say about the look. Or me. Whatever comes to mind. And don’t you worry — the hair’s for keeps, and I might even grow it longer. I’m not sure short hair was ever really a good fit for me, looking back on it.

Okay, and now let’s get to the main event: developing feelings. You’re right, I didn’t ask for gentle, and looking back I guess maybe I should’ve. At this point, though, I’m determined to get through this, whatever it takes — bring it on, Millie. My instinct is that’s the attitude I’m going to need if I ever go to the “practice room”, on top of for aligning my heart with yours. I have thoughts on “that”, by the way, but it’s probably better if I save them for next time. For now, I want you to know that I’ve been lighting the newest candle twice a day: right after waking up, and right before lying down to sleep. It’s no replacement for being physically present with you, but I like having something I can do that helps me feel like we’re closer. I must confess: I did ask Adelaide to test the candle before using it myself, and as expected it didn’t do a damn thing except smell nice — really nice. Whatever recipe you’re using now really tickles my fancy. I feel like a complete jerk for doubting you. For that, I genuinely am sorry, and hope you’ll forgive me. That’s it, though! No more doubts, no more temper, no more nerves: I’m ready to be yours, and for you to be mine. (I smiled, while writing that — good sign?)

Here are five ways I want to change for you:

1. A better attitude about trying things that are unfamiliar, or seem strange
2. More patience, and a cooler head
3. Zero “conservative sensibilities” (there’s not much left, but I want zero)
4. More comfortable sharing my feelings openly
5. No sass about doing my assignments (not homework, sorry for that!)

This took me a while to come up with, so I hope it’s to your liking. If not, I’m ready for tips on how to do better. Hope to hear from you soon.

Yours,

Nadia

My doll Nadia,

I am certainly very, very happy to hear from you once more. As am I sincerely grateful for your thought-out apology, too. Please know you are forgiven, and I will see to it that this little misunderstanding doesn’t happen once more. After all, I don’t recall you having the strongest track record for staying away from me. Don’t you recall, following our second Adder Creek discussion, your claims that you wanted nothing to do with me anymore, only to return to me crying out of regret a few days later? Ah, but I promise I won’t reminisce on the past any longer. What matters is the here and now: You are committed to developing feelings for me, and for that I am both grateful and determined to help you.

Of course I missed you, Nadia dear. I know it must have been difficult to wait until your emotions finished stirring before replying, but you must know how pleased I am that you’ve returned to me. Please don’t worry — I shall write to you more often, and on more than just how best to tap into the well within your heart. Frankly I’d much rather provide my sage wisdom to you in person; I do wish that my school was closer to our village, but alas. Unfortunately, I plan to stay on campus over winter break, as well. One of the professors has taken a liking to me, and asked that I stay put to work as her Teacher’s Assistant until the spring semester begins. The school groundskeeper also asked that I help keep the garden alive and afresh, with much of the usual staff off visiting far-off relatives for the new year. While I relish their recognition of my talents, I lament that I am obliged to pursue professional advantage over personal sentiment, when given the chance.

It hurts me, though, to know that I’ll be away from you for longer than I’d like, especially at this pivotal moment in our relationship. I know you’ve asked me not to excessively disparage your relatives, however I can’t say I’m not outraged by what you've told me of them. You aren’t finished healing and they’re already putting you to work, and from the sounds of it, they will disown you should you refuse? Goddesses below, have they no shame at all?! I knew your grandmother was a stern woman, but this is simply a bridge too far. They have always pushed you so hard, Nadia, further than you ever deserve to be pushed. I wish I could say that didn’t spark some thunder of anger within me, but I’d be lying, and you know how much I despise lying and liars…

Frustration and secondhand grief aside, it pains me greatly to know how much anguish this forced labor puts you in, not to mention cutting into your newfound love of sewing. (Play on words not intentional; I recognize now isn’t the time, but alas, I ran out of erasing ink a bit ago. Ah well, I hope you don’t mind.) I can’t imagine that working under threat to your personal well-being sparks the passion needed to create. If only I could whisk you away from your misery, I would do so in half a heartbeat. I sincerely hope your family relents soon, or that you happen to find another place to stay — even just temporarily — while you collect yourself.

I must say, I gasped in awe and amazement at Adelaide’s wonderful illustration! Though even the word ‘illustration’ sells this work of art short; truly her depiction of you is a masterpiece, akin to those by the great artists we are to learn about in school. I have a feeling Adelaide would fit in quite nicely here; you’d be surprised at the extent to which the fine arts and witchcraft overlap. As it happens, a few of the women whose bodies I’ve defiled, as you’ve described them, have brought in childhood friends, sisters, or disciples to act as their Assistants. They live on campus for only a smidge more in tuition under oath of assisting their Head Witch however she should deem necessary; with schoolwork, for example, or perhaps… other purposes? I’m sure at this point you can infer what I mean.

You’re a clever bird, Nadia. The five goals you’ve set for yourself sound absolutely splendid, and I promise you I will help see them to completion. Mark my words: I will be the teacher that you need! I can tell you’ve done so much reflection since your last letter; a promising sign for a humble, teachable student. However, please don’t feel the need to beat yourself up over your prior mistakes — you’ve already done quite enough of that, as have I. Now, it’s time to take action: For each of those five goals, would you kindly list some ways you plan to meet them?

In case you have forgotten, your goals were:

1. Willingness to engage in things that are new and unfamiliar
2. A cool and calm head, ready to listen attentively and accept what is taught
3. Zero conservative sensibilities; you seem to have already discarded some, so good on you! We’re already making progress.
4. Comfort sharing your feelings openly with yours truly
5. No more rebuttals about doing your assignments, including this one

Finally… if it isn’t too hard on your writing hand, I’d like you to write the following statement on a piece of scrap parchment, front and back:

“I am open to change.”

I am overjoyed that you have decided to use my latest candle after all (and to a lesser extent, grateful you have Adelaide with you to keep your occasional unfounded paranoia in check). I’m unsure if I should mention this, but I’ve also made a candle for myself — the same ingredients in the same proportions, and I intend to light mine at the same times you light yours, Nadia. I’ve included a sketch of it alight within this letter. Sadly I must admit I don’t have quite the artist’s hand that our friend Adelaide does, but I hope you’ll enjoy it for the heartfelt gift it is.

Ah, Nadia: how sweet, kind, and gentle-hearted you are. Truly I wish there were more people like you in the world, but in the alternative I’ll just have to treasure your finest qualities that much more dearly. Every day my heart — indeed, my whole body — feels as if it lights aflame knowing you now wish to return my long unrequited affection. How much adoration I have for you, Nadia, and how I look forward to witnessing your most tender feelings, once more.

your Witch,

Sorceress Carmilla

My Sorceress Carmilla,

Opening your letters never gets old. Each time, it’s a rush — I hope that feeling never goes away. First off: enclosed is my writing assignment, which I did before even starting my reply (I wanted to be in the right headspace for it). I’ll admit my hand got pretty tired by the end, but I honestly don’t mind. There was something powerful about going through the motions, just focusing my intent over and over like that, making the words more true every time I wrote them. It was almost meditative, actually, and a good respite from all the shit that’s going on now. Very much up for another one of these if you feel it’ll help me make more progress!

You’re not wrong about me feeling attached to you, and I hope we never fall out of touch again. I do remember trying to repair our friendship after the first Adder Creek follow-up went sour, but I must have forgotten about those hurtful words of mine and the tearful apology I gave for them later — out of shame, most likely. I’m sorry, and I’m glad to be leaving that part of myself behind. You deserve better, and you’ll get it. But also, you’re really not coming home for the new year? Keeping that magic garden alive sounds important, and so is getting ahead in school, so I’m glad it’s for good reasons, just… dammit! I’m sure this whole process would go faster if we could do the mushy stuff folks typically do. Holding hands, taking our meals together, going for walks by the riverside, all of that. Hopefully soon. I’ll be patient.

About Adelaide’s sketch: I agree with you, her drawing skills are top notch and she did an excellent job capturing my likeness. That said, I guess I was hoping to hear more about my, well, appearance. Like my hair, for example. You like the style? I’ve experimented a bit with different ways to put it up. I’m proud of my current approach, of course, but also I’m open to changing it if you’ve got a better idea, which you probably do. What about my fashion choices? The overall effect? I’m asking how I look, in your eyes. How you think of me. Basically I’m

No no no, I’m not doing this shit again. Comfort sharing my feelings openly with you means I have to do this: Carmilla, do you think I’m pretty? Would you describe me as beautiful? Yes, I fully realize I’ve never cared about those sorts of questions before, but I need to know and your opinion is the only one that matters to me. (I really, really hope that was okay to ask!)

It figures you’d want to bring Adelaide on as your assistant. She’s clever, hardworking, and cooler than ice. Without a doubt she’d fit in at your school, for all sorts of reasons (more on that later). Then there’s me: struggling to find my place in the world, and embarrassing myself trying to form a long-term connection with someone I already mean the world to. You deserve better than an undereducated, tantrum-prone village yokel for your right hand, Carmilla. If it’s Miss Winters you want with you at school, take her. I’m still yours to love whatever you choose.

And speaking of, on a much lighter note, I’m grinning stupid thinking about us lighting up our matching candles at the same time, dozens of miles away. I haven’t missed a single morning or evening since I started, Carmilla. Honestly I hardly even notice myself doing it anymore; it’s basically a reflex, like breathing. You’re in my head for hours every morning and on my mind until the moment I fall asleep. It’s the best kind of distraction and a great way to be, so I have to thank you again. Still plenty of candle left for now, but I’ll make sure to inform you when I’m running low — don’t want to break the chain!

On the subject of assignments: so for goal number 4, the best thing I can think of is I’ll swear to answer any question you ask of me, eagerly and honestly. I trust you, so I’ve gotta act like it. And I’ll keep working on this goal in my letters, too, like above. But for the other goals, well… I’m thinking I might be able to take them all out in one fell swoop. Tell me if this sounds crazy: what if I had my very own “practice room” right here in Amberfield? During the day you can rent beds in the Lilac Pheasant at a reasonable hourly rate, so that’s privacy taken care of. Not quite as extravagant a space as I once dreamt yours is, but I hope it’ll suffice! Then it’s just a matter of doing everything safely, and I’d have you guiding my hand — Adelaide too, if you’ll allow it. (Yep: she’s a defiler, Carmilla, and I have received clear permission to tell you so. Told you she’d fit in fine with your crowd!)

I’ll admit, I’m surprised at myself for even coming up with this idea, let alone suggesting it, but there are reasons. I really am mostly healed by now, so there’s not a lot of daily agony left to deal with, and… I’m actually sort of starting to miss it? I miss conquering it, at least. Not letting it stop me. Putting in another stitch, and another, and another, even when my body threatens to quit on me. Telling the pain “fuck off, I’m busy,” and feeling the pain listen. And so there you go: trying something new and unfamiliar, while also practicing keeping a cool head in tough situations, while also getting up to shit that’d strike my grandma stone cold dead if she ever found out about it (the idea tempts me more and more each day…) while also fortifying my can-do, won’t-argue attitude for anything you see fit to inflict upon me — sorry, I of course meant to say ‘assign to me.’ (This is where I’d wink if we were in person.)

Closing thought: you used this phrase, “pivotal moment in our relationship.” My brain’s been chewing on that ever since I read it. What is our relationship? What would you like it to be, once I’m ready? “Best friends” is accurate, I suppose, but also pretty badly misleading at this point. You’re the expert here, so I’ll defer to you — and trust that you’re not scaring me off at this point, Carmilla, even if you try. Please write me as soon as you can.

Yours,

Nadia

My doll Nadia,

While I typically respond to your words in the order in which you write them, today I want to start my letter by affirming you on a subject you seem very insecure about, somehow. That is to say: you are incredibly gorgeous, so much so that no words, art, or lyricism can ever truly capture your beauty. It would be hubris to even try! Every day when I wake up, I think about you, your face, your body, and I am instantly put at ease, ready to take on the world. You looked absolutely darling even with shorter hair, and I can’t imagine how dazzling you must look now, with so many new styling options available to you. Ah, your many beautiful features kept racing through my mind as I read your assignment, hearing your angelic voice singing the words you inscribed into yourself as truth. I’m sure the next assignment of this caliber I receive, I’ll be able to hear your gorgeous voice that much more clearly. I find the prospect of improving upon your magnificence a deeply challenging prospect, but should you ever wish to call upon my aesthetic aid, know that I will eagerly answer you, without fail.

If you need any more convincing of your allure than that, then please allow me. I’ve spent every waking second of my adulthood, doll, thinking not only of your beauty but the many ways I hoped to bask in it. The ways your flesh might stimulate my senses — fuck, the ways I’d taste every inch of your body, a body that could be that of a goddess, and lick up all of its succulent juices, taking in the smell as I do so, greedily consuming every form of stimulation available to me and yet finding myself endlessly hungry for more… if it weren’t for the sheer impracticality of even the shortest visit, know that I would race to your bedside as often as I could. I eagerly await the day where we see our ultimate fantasy of cohabitation fulfilled, and I’ll be able to take in your splendor every single waking hour.

I have framed your assignment and keep it near my bedside. I gaze upon your handwriting, knowing how difficult this process is for you and just how hard you try for me. Facing your feelings and truly allowing yourself to feel them is grueling work, and often goes unseen by spouses and partners who are willing to take the hearts of their beloveds for granted. I care, Nadia. I care immensely, and treasure deeply your efforts to return my adoration. Daily, my love for you and awe at your beauty run ever deeper.

I do wish I could return for our winter break; really, I do, especially after hearing about all you’re going through. Unfortunately, I doubt my family would provide a warm bed and food for me, and I have a feeling your own family might not appreciate my poignant criticisms of their treatment of you, which are too heartfelt for me to conceal out of politeness. I suspect Adelaide would do well as my assistant, yes — and I am quite thrilled (if a tad surprised!) that she is willing to assist in developing your need for defilement — but I can say with certainty you’d outclass her handily at fulfilling my emotional needs while at school, which is what I want most out of an assistant in the first place. Life here would be paradise with you by my side, Nadia, but I know how busy you must be, and how dedicated you are to your undeserving relatives. If only it was meant to be; stealing you away to live as my aide would allow for rapid progress on bringing out your feelings, too. Alas.

I’m delighted with your idea to establish your own practice room, though do thoroughly tidy it up before using it. I never learned why the one on our campus was so filthy, and I don’t want you getting dirtied up by accident. I’m sure Adelaide could help you with this, if you needed — she’s a real gem. Do make sure you start slow, however. I know how intense the endless quest for agony can become, especially for a beginner, and I don’t want anything discouraging you now. Would you please write to me immediately after your first time using your practice room and tell me, in detail, of your experience?

One more thing that’s of the utmost importance. Know this and know it well, doll: while Adelaide may be your instructor in physical intimacy for the time being, you are finding your place in the world, and it’s with me.

It’s funny enough you’re so interested in exploring the intricacies of pain in the first place. Often, girls who find affectionate touch to be inexplicably unpleasant develop an insatiable craving for torture, instead. Your resilience, your will to put yourself through misery and in so doing change yourself for the better — it is admirable. Gods, I knew my heart picked you for a reason, Nadia. The way you describe putting in stitches, pulling fabric across your lap, working thread and cloth into an elegant creation despite the desperate protestations of your flesh; it truly seems like a life of defilement is meant for you, doesn’t it? If you should find yourself inclined to take this budding interest of yours to the next level, then tell me. I will send you something in the mail that will help you accept pain as growth, devotion, love. I can’t share what this item is in advance, and providing it to you now may be pushing you a bit; personally, I believe you can handle it, but you know your body and its limits best.

What is our relationship, indeed? A curious question. Labels can be rather nebulous, so it’s entirely possible that any answer I give will be entirely outdated a day, year, or eternity from now. Personally, I like referring to myself as a Witch and to you as a doll, because, well… it’s true, isn’t it? You seemed not to take to that arrangement at first, but perhaps you feel differently about it now? Roles aside, I’ll tell you this, Nadia doll: I see us as lovers, together, forever. If we are not there now, we will get there. I promise.

At the beginning of your letter, you asked for another mantra to write; something to carve both onto paper and into your spirit. Rather than providing you with an entirely new phrase, I thought to myself, ‘why not add onto the work that’s already been done?’ Seems like less effort for me and less mental exertion for you. So, I propose:

“I am open to being changed.”

I eagerly await your next letter with butterflies in my heart, and our twinned candle burning on by my bedside.

your Witch,

Sorceress Carmilla

My Witch Carmilla,

Please don’t be upset. Please read this letter all the way through. I did the best that I could in a crisis situation, please believe me, I’m so, so sorry! Adelaide was there, she knows I tried. I panicked, I fucked up, I know I fucked up, but I just need a place to stay while I figure everything out. I’ve taken precautions, too — just, like I said, read this all the way through before starting your reply.

I’m currently staying with your folks. In your bedroom, actually. I know full well how you’re going to react to hearing that, but I honestly don’t have anywhere else to go, I swear. It’s only temporary. I’ll figure something out, I promise, I just need a little time.

So I got kicked out of my family home, obviously. I’ll explain what happened as best I can. Yesterday morning your letter arrived, right as my shift was getting going. I was beyond excited to read your message, but given the questions I’d asked you last time I made the rational calculation to wait until after work, or at least my lunch break. The problem was: my rational calculation didn’t matter. The moment your letter was in my hand, I opened it and started reading. I knew it was a bad idea, but I couldn’t stop myself. It was unnerving. My body wasn’t listening to me, like I was possessed. Then things got worse…

I just barely made it through your first paragraph without fainting. I’ve never been more elated in my entire life, reading your praiseful words and feeling all of the affection behind them. But I think it was actually too much — my body started acting up, like I was in a panic. My heart was beating at triple speed, I was sweating like crazy, I felt unsteady on my feet, all of that. Then I started reading the part about you tasting me, and Carmilla, I… I felt sick. All of that excitement from earlier changed into some kind of nervous terror. I ran upstairs to go lie down. I was delirious. I couldn’t believe it. That image, that fantasy, just started racing through my mind and wouldn’t stop. It was so loud it felt like a hammer to my skull. I couldn’t think. Whenever I eventually got my bearings, it was to read a few more words from the letter and instantly slam back into overload. It never even occurred to me that something was wrong, that I probably needed to go get help. It was just you. All you. Nothing but you, endlessly, and no way out.

I don’t even know how long it took before my grandma started banging on my door, yelling “get your ass downstairs to the anvil, girl, what’s wrong with you?!” And I told her I felt ill, that I was having trouble breathing and couldn’t stand up, that I didn’t know what to do, and she just fucking lost it. More yelling at me, “playing sick again”, “lazy”, “bad influence” (talking about you, Carmilla), “spoiled brat”, and I… snapped. Not in like an angry way — I just hid, curled into a ball, and tried to make myself small. It was all I could do. Parts of me just shut off, and what remained was beyond reason.

I don’t remember what happened next all that clearly. Pretty sure my dad held my grandma back and tried to get her to stop hurling insults at me while I collected everything I could, everything that mattered — your letters, their wax seals, the materials you’ve sent me, some of the clothes I’ve made, my savings, and of course the unfinished surprise project. Adelaide ran over and helped me clear things out as soon as she saw what was happening. We worked as fast as we could, ferrying my stuff across the road into the Winters residence, where it should all be safe. My possessions were allowed inside, but yours truly pointedly was not: I don’t know what in the everloving fuck is wrong with Adelaide’s shut-in “auntie”, but when I tried to go through their front door she came at me with a broomstick in her hands and murder in her eyes, so I backed off. Adelaide shortly explained that she herself is the only person who comes and goes from that house, meaning I’d have to find lodging somewhere else. She could also tell how freaked the fuck out I was, and did her best to calm me down. That was, naturally, only working so well (my fault, not hers. I still tried, though, really, I did).

And that’s when your mother came along. She gently grabbed me by the shoulders, starting cooing at me: “What’s the matter, dear?” I could hardly speak, and Adelaide couldn’t get her off of me. Then she just… took me home. I couldn’t find it within myself to fight back against her, even though I knew I needed to. I went along with it, dumbfounded. It was like she could tell I was having a total breakdown, and pounced. We got to your home, and your dad was there. Your mom sat me at the kitchen table and made us lunch. She told me I’d be fine, that I could stay here as long as I needed, no judgment, no need to share anything before I’m ready, and your dad just nodded his agreement — though I could tell he was biting his tongue something awful. As soon as I’d finished my food I stumbled into your bedroom, locked the door, collapsed to the floor, and just cried for a long, long time. And as awful as I felt, I had one thought that absolutely would not leave my mind, no matter how much I tried to set it aside: “I need to finish reading Carmilla’s letter. There might be something in it that can fix me.”

In the evening I slipped out undetected and regrouped with Adelaide. She had your most recent letter and my twice-daily candle at the ready (bless her, she’s so on top of things). I read the letter all the way through — no incapacitating panic this time, just dread anxiety. After that I told Adelaide to meet me at the Lilac Pheasant after lunch tomorrow and took the candle back with me to the Thornbriars’. Thank goodness I sewed pockets into this dress, because I kept the candle safe in one of them and your folks haven’t caught a glimpse of it. They tried to start conversation over dinner, but I didn’t give them a damn thing, just “I’m not ready to discuss any of it yet” and so on. They let it go, I’m guessing because they’re willing to play patient, at least for the time being. Doesn’t matter. I’d never betray you and I’m not about to start now. After my bedtime candle lighting, I stared at the ceiling thinking about how I’d try to fix everything, make it right. Didn’t get much sleep that night, but at least I dreamt vague, hazy dreams of you. That brought me some much-needed comfort.

At the Pheasant the next day I put my desperate plan into action. We booked a modest room for two hours (and ended up needing three). Adelaide brought all the equipment. We made sure everything was nice and tidy, just like you said, and then after I’d stripped down to almost nothing we got started. At first, just hands — slaps, scratching, and soon on to punches. Adelaide ordered me to apologize to my Witch for my weakness, and I did: every time she hit me I told you “I’m sorry”. Dunno how long that went on but Adelaide ended up needing a break before I did.

I still felt guilty, so even though I could tell she was having reservations, I made Adelaide keep going. She got out tools: a riding crop, a cat-o-nine, a cane, all of which in turn she used to beat more apologies out of me. I made sure she worked my whole body, other than my face (and that was only because I didn’t want untoward questions from folks). No matter how many times she struck me, no matter how many times I groaned my pleas for forgiveness to you, no matter how many tears I shed, it wasn’t enough. The guilt was drowning me. I begged for more suffering.

Out came the candles: we went through several. It was tantalizingly cleansing; for the briefest of moments, in the tip-top of that stinging, burning feeling, I could forget how badly I’d failed you. Then I’d remember, and ask for more. More. More. More. I hadn’t forgotten your orders to take my first session slow, I fully remembered, Carmilla, and I simply didn’t care. I’m so sorry, please forgive me! Somewhere on the other side of that anguish, I prayed — or maybe knew? — I’d find your mercy…

Adelaide wouldn’t have it, though: after the final candle bled out the last of its wax, she put down the riding crop in her other hand and said, firmly, “we’re done.” My protests were immediately answered by her grabbing my throat, forcing me to meet her disdainful eyes, and warning me she’d report my insubordination if I didn’t shut the fuck up. That sure humbled me in an instant, and I squeaked out a quick apology to both of you. And that was that. Adelaide took off, exhausted. I cleaned myself and the space up, brought some unused stationary back to your house, and sat down to work at your old desk. The sun’s almost set. If I hurry, I can get this letter sent out to you tonight.

I’m yours, Carmilla. Yours, however you want me, however you’ll have me. If you say I’m your assistant, I’m your assistant. If you say I’m your lover, I’m your lover. If you say I’m your doll, I’m your doll. Fuck my family — you’re my family, and you always have been. And Adelaide’s a sweetheart and all but no one could ever mean as much to me as you do. I am yours, yours, yours. Only problem is, I don’t see how I’m fit for the task. There’s something deeply wrong with me I may never fully understand. I’m broken. Genuinely unworthy of you. I’m not sure what you see in me, I’m sorry. I’m somehow too confused and scared to love you right, and doomed to embarrass you in front of your associates if I try. All I can hope is that if I keep working on fixing myself, eventually some higher power will smile on me and grant me a miracle. Please send me whatever item it is that’ll help me hurt my way into loving you properly. I’ll do anything, no questions asked. Enclosed are three front-and-back sheets of the most truthful words I’ve ever written: I’m open to being changed, specifically for you, Carmilla. And thank you, thank you, thank you for loving me in the meantime.

Your doll,

Nadia

P.S. Please send your reply to Adelaide’s house — that way there’s no chance of it getting intercepted. We plan on meeting for practice every day until we hear back from you.