Letter to Dirk 2; Spring 1936

Sitting on top of a painstakingly hand-knit scarf (of poorer quality than any of Henriette's other creations but still dashing) with Albaea's emblem on it is a similarly painstakingly hand-writ letter. The bottom left corner of the envelope is marred with flecks of dirt, and the paper inside is stained with dried tears. Cleverly, inside is also Dirk's letter to her.

Dear Monsieur Sands,

I chose to hand-deliver this letter because as I read your reply again, I could not help but wonder how many of my own words reached you in the end. I have had une idée brillante and enclosed your own letter as well, so that you could verify any replaced words.

I am healing well, yes. My... magic has ensured use of my wrist is returning far quicker than it might to another. Of course, there are negative consequences as well, far more frightening than mes ail- my wings. I am only just noticing them, too. I do not know how much my magic will change me, and all I can do is hope that it will not prevent me from putting to use the information I have read.

As for military life, I think that we are far different from the normal soldier. We actually do very little training. I do not know if this is because we cannot keep from suffering the consequences of our magic or because they do not want us to gain control over ourselves. We are mostly supervised, though I do not know to what extent, and then we sortie, and then we return. Like weapons! Outils! Had I known we would be used like this, I never would have signed up.

I shall sneak away when next I have the chance, though my superior will punish me if he finds out, for us to go sailing again. I am afraid I have put you in trouble with them for what I have said, but I will not let them hurt you. I promise that, mon amour.

I hope this scarf keeps you warm out on the cold sea. Until next we meet, mon grand.

Je t'aime,
Henriette LeClair