June 19, 1892

The letter is sent anonymously, stuck just inside the door frame of the Dashwood home; Poppy Dashwood’s name is written across the center of it, with no return address. The letter isn’t dated, but the paper is faded, as if written years prior. The bottom of the letter is ripped off, as he’s not ready to divulge the secret of his identity. He is, however, ready to admit his crush.

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What shall it profit me to know
Your heart holds many a Romeo?
Why should I grieve, though I forget
How many another Juliet?
Let us be glad to have forgot
That roses fade, and loves are not,
As dreams, immortal, though they seem
Almost as real as a dream.
It is for this I see you rise,
A wraith, with starlight in your eyes,
Where calm hours weave, for such a mood
Solitude out of solitude;
For this, for this, you come to me
Out of the night, out of the sea.

If there is a time in which you’d like to reply, place a letter under the flower point near the entrance of the Ivy Leaf Tea Room, and I will find it. If you don’t, I will accept that too.

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   Poppy Dashwood