Letter Two

The Year of Our Lord 1111

Dear Nhu,

            I know I haven’t written for a while. Last time I wrote you, I wasn’t feeling my utmost. I suspected it was due to my sudden aloneness in the house and the feeling of not having you here every day, sister, but I am not quite sure that is the case.

            I have a new symptom to report. At first, I was just not sleeping well and feeling lethargic and tired during the day, but now my neck seems to have gotten larger. I haven’t changed what I eat, so I think it must be due to the strange new sickness I seem to find myself afflicted with. Are my humors off? I do detest blood-letting, but I will do so if I must.

            I am serious, my neck is swollen, as large as if I was set on by a bees’ nest. I do not know what to make of it. Maybe another disposal will help, but alas…

            …father’s age-old advice did not help me! In the past, it always has. Sister, when I killed my first, what, 14 years previous, I felt such a rush, such an intake of emotion and power and it was glorious. Despite the impropriety of speaking of such sentiments, I knew you felt the same way after your first kill. It was a peasant, wasn’t it? So was mine.

            This time, my blade chose a beggar that has bedeviled the gates of our home for many a week. Always shows up at inopportune times, when investors or lawyers are by, or on the rare occasion a suitor shows up claiming to be after me, not my money. Anyway, she is now gone and I am sure the servants are glad to be rid of the smell.

            I dumped the body over the bridge a village over. Not that much anyone would care, but I did not want authorities coming near our property. I do detest the color they wear.

            I know that you do not yen to speak of politics, but dear Nhu, I do. The new independence is amazing. The Chinese oppressors who have darkened the door of Vietnam are gone and I love the image of freedom the new Ly dynasty projects. Oh, if only father was here to see his country ruled by fellow Vietnamese. Father would be so happy and proud, sister.

            There have been whispers of the Chinese and other foes attempting to invade Vietnam once-more, but I do not know the veracity of such. I am sure that some amount of them have tried to breach our armies. Yes, living near the capitol has its benefits, but living here is almost political, censored and prettied up.

            I do not know why I wanted to tell you of that, but I felt like it needed to be said. Besides, since you moved out to an outlying village, I worry you do not receive the accuracy of the news that I do. I worry that your very intelligence is diminishing by living out there, but your marriage was strategic so who am I to speak against it?

            My heart goes out to you, in your situation. I will be out to visit you when my new relation arrives. Have you spoken about names? Is it too early to submit Anh as a top contender? I would so love to have someone named after me, dear sister.

Sickly, yet happy for you,

Anh

Letter One

April 22, The Year of Our Lord 1111

Dear Nhu,

I hope this letter find you well, dear sister. I worry about you, all alone in a new marriage to a man you barely know. This letter should bring you a level of comfort, to hear the words of a sister when you are now constantly surrounding by strange. How is your husband, by the by? And the new home? Do tell.

            I feel bereft without your company. I am a young woman all alone, with you in a far village, married and proper and I, spinster age, all alone. To think that you married before I did.  I do hope to see you again, sister. Boat travel is unwieldy, but if to see you at the end, I would risk my terrible fright of water. I’m sure I could stay below-decks for the majority of such a journey.

            I turned 22 last week. I know you know this, as the letter you sent for my birthday arrived just yesterday. You must have written that weeks ago! I quite enjoyed the stories of your new life. I would love to know more about the antics of these odd characters that you have so suddenly found yourself acquainted with.

It’s the year 1111 and many say we are due for a bad year, with those awful repeating numbers. I do not quite believe the superstition, but I am more careful walking down the street certainly.

            I have a new dress, bought for my joy at being 22. It’s a lavender silk, in the style that you always envied and admired. It swirls when on a jaunt and, oh, it amuses me. Not much does these days, without your giggle at my side. I am aware that you already have three such dresses, but no matter, I wished for you to know of my simple happiness at my latest possession.

            Do you remember the simpler times? Back when both our parents were alive and we lived oblivious happy little lives as the daughters of a great landowner? Buying sweets at the sweet-sellers each time mother let us accompany her to town? The games we would play in our little courtyard, me a delicate young princess and you my mother the queen who would try to marry me off to any plant, cat or dog that wandered into our tiled kingdom?

            I feel quite reminiscent. This house is too big for just one person, Nhu. Yes, mother and father are buried on the hill behind the house, but that is no company. Bones don't talk, at least to sane people. The servants, well, it wouldn’t be proper in the slightest for me to make acquaintances with any one of them. Maybe I will attempt to make friends among the other people of our station here.

            I was in the capital the other week and found the most delightful necklaces at a store. The merchant was quite befuddled by my perfect pronounciation, as he apparentley did not think me high-class, but soon recovered enough from the shock to sell me a necklace or three. I told him they were for friends, but in truth, they were all for me. I justify it because we certainly can afford it, being that I am the sole heiress of the agricultural empire father has nurtured into fruition here and that I was feeling unlike myself.

            I must go. The books need to be looked at and you know father would rise out of his grave if I did not oversee such action myself. It is good that the emperor has a new push for agriculture, it certainly benefits us. And the lawyer is coming by again, no doubt aghast by father’s decision to leave all to his daughter, an unmarried, shriveling daughter at that.

To conclude, I am aggrieved to say that I am not feeling my utmost. It might be a combination of you leaving and the new stares I draw as an even older unmarried, unattached woman of repute. People talk, you know. 
I think I shall put one of father’s remedies to the test to try to remedy this. Though people are not especially inclined to offer themselves to die on my blade. It seems to get harder and harder to find someone to bathe my blade in the blood of. Oh, well, I will find someone disposable. Just as father always said, “A murder done is a day well won.”

With love and a swirl of new skirts,

Your sister,

Anh

sources: 

http://asia.isp.msu.edu/wbwoa/southeast_asia/vietnam/history.htm

http://www.asian-nation.org/vietnam-history.shtml