Sailor Jentle Epinard
Sailor Jentle Epinard
Inktober Prompt: Ancient
23 October, 2019
These are dark matters indeed! Dr. Torres has discovered an ancient shadow fallen on our wood, one that reaches to your house, that place of refuge for me ~ my second home; that is what you tell me. Write me as you read through the book she lent you so I feel I am
Inktober Prompt: Ghost
22 October, 2019
I still feel like a ghost unto myself ~ my present, weary incarnation constantly haunted by the specters of who I was and who I might have been. I would dress as Lethargy for Hallowe’en were I not already cloaked in it.
Why do you think someone might be seeking revenge on your father? He has always been ~ always seemed to me ~ a kind and decent human. Whom do you suspect? Whisper more in the epistolary ear of
Inktober Prompt: Treasure
21 October, 2019
It makes sense that you’d treasure that hair ornament; it is the receptacle of hope and it looks lovely in your wavy tresses. It is a glint of light in this long, eerie darkness.
Forgive the brevity of this note; it in no way reflects the extent of my
Inktober Prompt: Tread
20 October, 2019
I had the dream again, though it had a different feel to it. This time I wasn’t part of the dream; I was more of a spectator gazing out over the landscape from a height. I watched the wood turn from a place of sun to one of mist. I saw the fog tread over the trees like a fever over the forehead of a sick child. And like a fever, it seemed to play a dual role, inflicting suffering while burning out a disease.
The world turned under me and our pond came into view. Again, the setting sun emerged and illuminated the pond and again I thought —— dragon.
The dreams mean something; they must, don’t you think? I feel the connection is just out of the reach of
Inktober Prompt: Sling
19 October, 2019
Bridget, dear Bridget,
You are ~ you always are ~ kindness itself. Even with our long friendship, I don’t know how you tolerate my moods. I also don’t know I’d tolerate the world without you. You are the one person who will never sling my heart around.
Dr. Torres seems genuinely to want to help, but she is Sibyllic in her utterances. The riddle is in the parted ash? What might that mean? Are you as confused as
Inktober Prompt: Misfit
Goldspot Prompt: Parasite
18 October, 2019
There was no letter from you today. The low-tending part of my brain says you have every reason to ignore me, that I am a weary, wearisome parasite sucking out your energy when most you need to conserve and hoard it for yourself.
But this line of thought is unfair to you. I have been several kinds of misfit in my life, and never have you made me feel
Inktober Prompt: Ornament
Goldspot Prompt: Creep
17 October, 2019
My dear Bridie,
Despite the seriousness of your struggles ~ and are not your struggles mine as well? ~ your letter made me smile. When I told you a few days ago that it would good for your to go out for a spell, it never occurred to me that you would go out for a spell! How clever you are!
I am fascinated that Dr. Torres hid the spell in a hair ornament. From your description, I imagine it looks somewhat like this:
Your bravery inspires me; I feel a kind of courage begin to creep into my soul. If I can only find a way to gather enough strength to act on that mental mettle meandering into my spirit!
But, Bridie, you did not tell me how you are to use the charm. In fact, curiosity about your enchanting talisman has me
Inktober Prompt: Wild
Goldspot Prompt: Wrath
16 October, 2019
I have just awakened, and before I drift away again, I shall tell you what I had hoped to impart in yesterday’s epistle.
You never told me what you thought of the dream I had, but I don’t blame you; you have enough and more on your mind, and it seemed such a silly, sleeping story.
But, Bridie, I keep having the same dream — or versions of the same dream. One aspect is always the same: I walk alone, but you are with me, or I am you, or we are one. I’m never sure how it works, but in the dream it now seems quite natural. And now that I think of it, this odd fusion seems like what Dr. Torres described in your father, doesn’t it?
And, Bridie, I become more convinced that there is something to these dreams, some message I am missing. Perhaps it is a wish born of my frustration at being confined here when I want so urgently to be with you!
Last night, in the dream-world at least, everything was wild, wild, wild. The wood was wild; the tame trees of our childhood stared from their knots wildly; the mist swirled with a contained wildness, as if it took enormous will not to fling itself out and up through the treetops; the pond itself was wild, with waves flinging themselves on the shore like an ocean in miniature.
And I/you/we were wild ~ wild with a strange freedom, with a compelling seeking, with a desperate hope driving me/us along paths familiar and ways that were strange. It felt exhilarating, dangerous, right.
And then I woke, full of disappointment ~ no, anger, wrath even ~ at how useless in the real world I am to one who has stood by me so
Inktober Prompt: Legend
Gold spot Prompt: Suspense
15 October, 2019
We seem to have stepped into the world of fairy-tale and legend. Thank you for not leaving me in suspense a moment longer than necessary, but how bewildered I still feel. How much more so must you feel!
While it is fortunate that your father shows no signs of brain fever, a diagnosis of some problem would, at least, have helped make sense of the mystery. Intellectually, I can comprehend her description of how she perceived your father, but how startling it must have been for her to see a different person look back her out of each of your father eyes! No wonder she hurried off so!
But to give you on remedy, no course of action, but only those strange words about ash again. What could she mean, “You’ll find it if you are meant to find it, if you are the one”?
I have more to tell you, Bridie, but it will have to wait until tomorrow because I am
Your somnolent companion in writing,