March 18th
Phyri,
You cannot possibly believe the misfortune that has befallen me since we last spoke. I went to the street fair (and had hoped to see you there, but perhaps we went on different days?) and was solicited by this old hag of an irish witch to try something dreadful called hand-fasting, and I suppose in the Muggle world it is merely a symbolic ordeal, but I've ended up with my hand actually tied to a man's — a Mr. Bixby, who plays for... oh, I don't know, Puddlemere, I think. He was in my year in Hogwarts but I really don't know much about him, but of course we've been spending all sorts of time together over the past day because we haven't any choice and now there are all sorts of rumors floating about, and then Witch Weekly — my very own Witch Weekly, can you imagine a crueler twist of fate, a more complete betrayal? — has run some ridiculous piece of speculation about the two of us being long-lost Hogwarts sweethearts.
Worst of all, there's some speculation in the article about why I left school in the first place — though everyone who was there at the time knows it was for family reasons — and they said I might have been with child! At fourteen, can you imagine? It's so ridiculous I hardly even know what to say to refute it, but I'm terribly worried that someone will believe this rubbish. You don't think Mr. Devine will, do you? Surely he's far too sensible for that! I know of course that he doesn't read Witch Weekly but I must imagine that this will get around to him sooner or later (and if his mother reads it I may well have entirely destroyed any goodwill built up on that front) and now I simply don't know what to do. I can hardly go and see him to try and make amends when I still have Mr. Bixby hanging off my finger tips!
You don't think he'll call off the wedding, do you? I am in such a state this morning that I don't know what to think. Of course I shall be resigning my position at that horrible magazine, just as soon as I can think straight enough to compose a decent letter!
Oh, Phyri! I could simply die! What shall I do if Mr. Devine does want to call off the wedding?
Ophelia
You cannot possibly believe the misfortune that has befallen me since we last spoke. I went to the street fair (and had hoped to see you there, but perhaps we went on different days?) and was solicited by this old hag of an irish witch to try something dreadful called hand-fasting, and I suppose in the Muggle world it is merely a symbolic ordeal, but I've ended up with my hand actually tied to a man's — a Mr. Bixby, who plays for... oh, I don't know, Puddlemere, I think. He was in my year in Hogwarts but I really don't know much about him, but of course we've been spending all sorts of time together over the past day because we haven't any choice and now there are all sorts of rumors floating about, and then Witch Weekly — my very own Witch Weekly, can you imagine a crueler twist of fate, a more complete betrayal? — has run some ridiculous piece of speculation about the two of us being long-lost Hogwarts sweethearts.
Worst of all, there's some speculation in the article about why I left school in the first place — though everyone who was there at the time knows it was for family reasons — and they said I might have been with child! At fourteen, can you imagine? It's so ridiculous I hardly even know what to say to refute it, but I'm terribly worried that someone will believe this rubbish. You don't think Mr. Devine will, do you? Surely he's far too sensible for that! I know of course that he doesn't read Witch Weekly but I must imagine that this will get around to him sooner or later (and if his mother reads it I may well have entirely destroyed any goodwill built up on that front) and now I simply don't know what to do. I can hardly go and see him to try and make amends when I still have Mr. Bixby hanging off my finger tips!
You don't think he'll call off the wedding, do you? I am in such a state this morning that I don't know what to think. Of course I shall be resigning my position at that horrible magazine, just as soon as I can think straight enough to compose a decent letter!
Oh, Phyri! I could simply die! What shall I do if Mr. Devine does want to call off the wedding?