For the Blind Girl

For the Blind Girl

Postby Rance » Tue Dec 03, 2013 4:29 am

At the Inquisitory, where she sifted through papers until the beds of her nails were dry and bloody, the curiosity could not be helped; she found herself mulling over what few articles about blindness she could find. She crunched hard bread slathered with mint preserves during her lunching-time, and then resolved that she would write--

--for the woman she'd met the night before had a sister, and surely, her sister would be willing to read a letter aloud. Wouldn't she?
Dear Isa,

I met you just last night. How is it like to not see things. I confess myself intreaked because sight to me is such a normal thing. I should wish you would not be affented by my questins. You have got such a distent gaze like you are looking through everything I imagine lots of people are put off by it but I am not, I always look at eyes you see, I watch lips and eyes all the time to better help me understand words if I do not know them.

Who is your sister? Is she taking care of you. I think if you have got your saucers and your bag and your stick then you are just fine but it is good to have a family.

There are unplessint sorts here in Myrken Wood. Be very safe and if you need anything I am just down the hallway. Where are you from. How did you get here? Did you come in a carridge.


Glour'eya Wynsee

The letter was sealed by a dollop of gray candlewax and folded carefully at its creases. Smears of black sweat from the tips of her fingers darkened the parchment's edges. When she returned from the Inquisitory that evening, she found the blind woman's room and slipped the paper between two cracks in the boards of the door.
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Re: For the Blind Girl

Postby Georgie » Wed Dec 11, 2013 2:52 pm

Ronogh, the eldest of the Merek sisters, read the letter received to her younger sister Eisa, who listened intently, marking the words to memory. When asked if she'd like help with the reply, the teenager was quick to shake her head and refuse the assistance, and held out her hand to demand the paper upon which the words she'd just heard had been written, as if she meant to read it again to herself later. She would not, of course--could not--and instead, tucked the correspondence into the handmade knapsack that she kept on her person at all times.

The reply came not on parchment, not written in ink, but instead carved very carefully into the surface of a wax tablet--two wooden frames hinged between, a layer of wax poured inside each to be written upon with a metal stylus. It was a time-consuming thing, painstakingly tracing letters into the wax, one finger following the stylus, sensitive to the texture.


I wanted to write to you on my own, but such things take time--I hope that you can forgive me for taking several days to do so, but it was important to me. There are a number of things that I cannot do on my own, but I know my letters. I learned them before I lost my sight--I was seven.

Your questions do not offend--most people are polite and do not hazard such curiosity. I like the fact that you are not afraid to ask about things that you want to know. I suppose that you could cover your eyes in an attempt to know what it is like to not see, but it is not all dark. Some people have a colour, as do some things, and at times there are flashes of light, or movements of shadows. Other times there is nothing to be seen, but I am not afraid of the dark. It allows me to imagine many, many things.

My sister is Ronogh; she is older than I am by ten years. She is the only family that I have, and we came here in the vardo which belonged to my parents, traveling the North Passage Down. I cannot say how long we will remain--we never stay long enough to put down roots--but I will be careful while I am in Myrken Wood.

I would write more, but I want to be sure to leave space for my name.


P.S. Please return my tablet once you have finished reading my letter. Thank you."

Carefully wrapped in a swath of cloth, tied securely with a bit of string, the tablet-letter was left just outside the other girl's door where she might find it.
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Re: For the Blind Girl

Postby Rance » Thu Dec 12, 2013 1:07 am

A day following, the slab was returned wrapped in its native cloth. When unwrapped, it was to the touch as would be a smooth cheese left too long packed in the heat of summer -- the wax bore a damp sheen and was malleable, melted only marginally by the heat of a candle--

But it bore an entirely different message, for the seamstress had understood the utility of the wax. It could be touched, giving texture to letters and characters, giving sight to the blind.

While she hadn't a stylus, she'd an embroidery needle.

H E L L O - E I S A

I - A M - F A S S A N A T E D - BY - T H I S - W R I T I N G - I N - W A X

I - H A V E - A - G R E A T - M A N Y - ?S - L I K E - W H A T - I S - A - V A R D O

I - A M - N O T - V E R Y - S M A R T - S O - B L I N D - S H O U L D - N O T
M A K E - Y O U - F E E L - B A D L Y

W H A T - H A P P E N - A T - S E V E N - ?

A R E - T H E R E - T H I N G S - I - C A N - H E L P - Y O U - W I T H - ?

I F - Y O U - C A N N O T - S E E - H O W - C A N - Y O U - D R E A M
I T - A U G H T - T O - B E - V E R Y - F I N E
N O T - T O - D R E A M

S -


Eisa had invited the inquiries; her young examiner, likely only a handful of years her lesser, had seen fit to ask as instructed, but had likewise revealed very little of herself in the process.
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