Glenn,
I hope you’re well and forgive the lack of pleasantries. Let us meet soon. The Marshall has shared disturbing news, or perhaps rumors, with me regarding Miss Wynsee and the events surrounding your speech, including the reasons why I have a terrible lump on my head.
Thank you, by the way. Ariane says you meant to protect us – I don’t recall.
Gods be good,
Genevieve
Miss Gloria,
Ariane explained what has happened. I am sorry, I don’t recall. I do wish to see you to learn more, to help if I can. Though I am not yet well, please come prepared that we may not speak long.
Gods be good,
Genny
Post Script: The messenger will bring you to the apartment, the address is rather useless.
Her otherwise quick, decisive and neat penmanship is strained. Far still from sloppy, the strokes contain the small tremors and the wavering quality of one trying very hard to write.
Missing from the infirmary for several days she hadn’t returned to the Inn, nor had she gone to the Inquisitory, the first as a choice and the latter, simply because she lacked the physical capability. Several weeks it had been, or so she had inevitably discovered; her muscles were relearning, slowly. It was a small apartment, three rooms at most, up a narrow flight of exterior stairs, toasty warm above a bakery and handsomely painted. It housed little more than the desk where she sat. It was a homely, empty place, not dilapidated or putrid as many other dwellings in town. It simply lacked invitation, furniture, possessions.