Letter Three

The Year of Our Lord 1112

Dear Nhu,

I apologize for the time that has lapsed between the letter that preceded this one and this. Much has happened. All will be conveyed to you in this rather short missive, apologies again for the time interval.

            I am petrified of water. You, dear sister, above all, should know this. I have to take my yearly bath with my eyes closed and a mild sedation of poppy coursing through my veins. And what could have befallen me in my time of sickness that was worse than the dreaded yearly bath?

            A flood, my dear Nhu. A flood. All kinds of water swarmed the house, confining me to my chambers in fear that the brackish liquid would find me fodder for its perilous grasp. Bodies floated by, bloated by time and gas, in a torrent that seemed to be a surefire deadly omen for yours truly.

            Once, I saw the corpses of what had to be an entire family floating by the crack in the curtains. There was a woman in wedding finery, a man at her side who had to be her betrothed, and two sets of parents, all dressed to the nines. They were at the state of decomposition just on the border of looking human and looking like green creatures of unknown origin.

I think it was a prediction of my future, marriage-less and barren of any happiness or fruitfulness.

            I have not left the house in three months. The waters have subsided significantly, but I still do not want to leave this tenuous haven I have found myself in in these enclosed walls.

            Just the thought of venturing somewhere with the threat of brackish, devil-liquid is enough to send me into a faint and one of the servants going for the smelling vapors. I woke in the middle of my sleep as a child to dreams of being floated down rivers, still alive and screaming for help and receiving no answer, crying.

I remember that you would comfort me in those moments, sister and insist that tomorrow would be better. You would assure me that father would find some hapless soul to meet the kiss of my blade and surely my spirits would be revived after that. I realize it was an odd situation, you the younger, comforting the one who was supposed to be older and wiser, but none the matter.

The flood was a result of a particularly heavy rainy season, the servants talk in their whispers. I believe the sky was weeping for your loss. Or it could have been weeping for father, but I do not believe that such a hateful man would warrant such a reaction.

Enough of these morose sentiments. You have not been adequately forthcoming about your new life with me. Tell all, dear sister, for certainly, I have no one to repeat your secrets and hidden thoughts to. And to answer your question, I have disposed of three more since we last wrote, but my neck seems to be getting more and more engorged by the day. Alas.

Your ailing sister,

Anh