12th July, 1892

November,

‘It feels like forever’ is such a hackneyed phrase, but in this case it does seem an eternity since we saw each other. Nonetheless I hope you are well – have you given birth yet? – for I am wilting away in this summer without any of my friends to hand. When are you to leave the web, to leave the loom? – your confinement is a worse curse than the Lady of Shalott’s.

That is to say I wish you were not with child; what do you want with another one? I could never be a mother, not after reading Mary Shelley as a girl – but speaking of horror and monstrousness, have you been reading the news? Mutilated bodies in Irvingly, beasts on the loose, all sorts... but you must tell me if I’m being coarse and alarming, I don’t know what your nerves are like in pregnancy.

I am impatient to see you, at any rate – in the package* you will find a mirror to the outside world whilst you (presumably) recover. Or, if not the world, at least to me; I have another just like it, so if you say my name into it we might talk in them.

Of course, it also works the other way around, so if you so greatly offend me by not using yours, I shall have to seek you out through

the mirror myself,
Porphyria

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*a two-way hand mirror
November Malfoy / Ursula Black

  

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a sublime set by Lady! <3

20th July, 1892

Dear Friend,

Please forgive my delay in writing and make no mistake it was not for lack of appreciation, I had not expected to hear from you and it was a truly pleasant surprise. It has been my exhaustion that has kept me from picking up a quill sooner.

I think you of all people may appreciate the circumstances of my daughter's arrival into this world, certainly more so than my husband and family.

Do you recall the night of July 10th? I suspect you may remember the moon at least for it was full and bright. I have few particular talents of which to boast and though I would not call it a talent per se yet I do possess a curious propensity for occasional somnambulance. So it was that I awoke to find myself standing outside with no recollection of how I came to be there but I knew it to be a portentous moment at once. It was thus under a full moon that Juliet Luna made her entrance into the world.

I hope she will be my last, it seems a fitting way to end.

I must thank you for the exceedingly thoughtful gift. I suspect I will be housebound a little while longer but perhaps it will not seem so long a duration now that I have your mirror. I confess it perturbs me somewhat to imagine using it, to converse with someone through a looking glass and to think you were seeing me too! I cannot fully explain why it is strange to me but I suppose all new things are strange at first.

Please forgive me for leaving my gratitude until last, I really ought to rewrite it but I judged from the tone of your letter that you might overlook my faux pas on account of how long I have already made you wait, and I am too weary to write more today.

Graciously yours,
November

  

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26th July, 1892

November,

I can picture it to the last, and what a way to enter the world! Chosen sister of the spirit, as Shelley says – what a blessing to be born under. Born in the wild – well, almost – and under the moonlight. Very Artemis of her.

I would have sent you The Moon was but a Chin of Gold – Emily Dickinson, do you know it? – along with this letter to salute Juliet, but I have found myself with a confession to make instead. Your mention of sleepwalking struck something in me, and I fear I am using the notion of it in a new work of my own. I suppose you do not mind?

The poem is coming along well, I think – writing poetry is much like bearing a child, I suppose; there is as much pain and monstrous horror in it – so I may share a little of it with you soon, if you care to hear it.

Otherwise – next time you cannot sleep or wake from sleepwalking, you must use the mirror so you can tell me of it.

Forgiveness is not much in my nature, but for you it seems I have

a great well of it.

Porphyria

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a sublime set by Lady! <3

28th July, 1892

My Dear Friend,

I confess I have always found my spells of sleepwalking to be deeply discomfiting but I am intrigued to know how it has inspired you. That is to say I do not mind whatsoever and I should like very much to hear it.

Admittedly I am also unfamiliar with the poem you mentioned in your letter. I certainly know of Miss Dickinson though I cannot profess to owning a volume of her work yet. I am familiar with only a scant few of her poems but all I have found to my liking. Perhaps procuring a collection of her poems shall be the purpose of my first outing when I am well enough to leave the house; I think it will not be so long now.


I shall cherish your forgiveness all the more for its scarcity,

November

  

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