Hamlet,

There are many stories with which I could distract your mind and soul. I often turned to them myself when the wind whispers too loudly in my mind and the clouds seep in. They tether me, holding me fast, drawing a line from my soul to my body, whispering to me to remain.

I do not know if you have read Tennyson's The Lady of Shalott but I often turn to it for comfort, I have sent you a copy of the poem, please excuse the writing for it was copied out some years ago in a moment of my own quivering spirit.

As you ask for the trivial I have also included my favorite play: Shakespeare's Much Ado About Nothing.

I confess I would rather the pictures that form from the words of a novel, rich with words, but poetry and plays evoke half formed images, scenes fanciful, yet all too willing to lift me with their golden threads and take me far away. However, perhaps these threads shall snag you from the darkness and pull you toward my ephemeral heights.

Yours,
Ophelia

This letter has been sent in return the same night as Hamlet's letter, it has been hastily penned and attached to it is a small cloth bag that has a hidden extension charm in it, inside is a well worn parchment decorated with inked flowers (the creation of a fifteen year old Lottie) with Tennyson's The Lady of Shalott copied out in overly flourished writing, and a copy of Shakespeare's Much Ado About Nothing