Dear Soran,

I hate boarding school. I want to go home. Tell Mother and Father I promise never to tussle with Marybelle Claire-Sue again, even if she is wretchedly rude, insulting, and has no sense of propriety. I now understand that it was unseemly conduct for a sixteen-year-old lady such as myself. Besides, I tore my third-best gown. However, I don’t see why this action warranted being sent away to boarding school, especially this one. I long to be delivered to my native shore of Nerrisa. Valaine is simply dreadful. The whole horrid country seems to be made of gray stone and large rocks, my boarding room included. The people here have no sense of style. Why, just the other night, while I was wandering the hallways most romantically, I saw my roommate. A young woman of dark hair and odd-colored eyes named Vellina. She was attired in a black gown. Black, when I know for a fact she wasn’t in mourning. Besides that, the red dye from her lip-rouge dripped down her chin in a most ghastly way. What a heathen. 

I suppose, being a sailor, you wish to know of my journey. It was absolutely abhorrent. To begin with, there was some confusion en route to the docks. We arrived somewhat later than planned, due to my luggage becoming unstrapped from the carriage-top and tumbling out onto the street. The silly people crossing behind us wouldn’t stop yelling and screaming. Something about a boy’s leg being crushed? Ridiculous peasants. I ordered the driver and pageboy to gather the luggage and leave as quickly as possible. At any rate, by the time we reached the docks, there was no ship named The Mermaid’s Mother to be seen. However, with my opera glasses (they had fallen out of the luggage and I decided to carry them with me), I soon spotted a ship called The Siren’s Son and I thought that Mother had surely made a mistake. She had merely confused the underwater creature’s relatives, and The Siren’s Son was the ship I was truly meant to be on. The pageboy argued quite emphatically against my boarding the ship. Tell Father to have a word with him- I’m certain he’s the cause behind the luggage mishap. At least, he’s the one who tied the trunks down. 

The Siren’s Son was a rickety old ship, quite unlike the quick, pristine frigates in Father’s fleet. The captain of The Siren’s Son had a terrible beard, and his breath reeked of fish (and other things young ladies should not discuss.) He was missing an eye, and every single one of his crew was missing a limb of some sort. I suppose that’s the reason it took nearly three months to cross a measly little ocean. You know Father’s ships did it in two. At first, the men did not act like gentlemen at all. They gave me lodgings in a stuffy, cramped little room, rifled through my things, and stole all my valuables. (Do not worry for me, dear brother, for I bought replacements when we landed.) 

Well, after a few hours of this rough treatment, from within my quarters, I felt the entire ship lean to the left. I wandered above deck to see what was the matter, and found every crewmate leaning over the ship’s side! Well, I marched right over there to give them a piece of my mind. They were obviously drooling over the sirens in the water instead of running the ship like proper seamen. I promptly hit the captain over the head with my opera glasses and told him to get back to captaining the ship, then I repeated the action with all the other crew members. I know Mother and Father would be most displeased to hear of this, but I have such little patience for uncouth idiots.

After that, the men ran around with their hands over their ears as if they were insane. I suppose it was to block out the voices of the sirens, but these sirens were amateurs. You know, Soran, that I have attended Aunt Aphelia’s opera house once a month since I was eight. (In fact, Aunt Aphelia gave me my opera glasses as a gift for my eighth birthday.) The voices of these sirens simply did not compare to Aunt Aphelia’s dulcet tones, and I told the captain so myself. He did not seem to hear but was back at his steering wheel like a captain should be. Then, he said he would sail me to Valaine “after all”. Can you believe it? What did he suppose Mother paid him for? I’ve never seen such dense sailors.

As I told you, it took us three months to reach Valaine. Likely these imbecile sailors were doing it on purpose. At any rate, when we arrived on the gray Valainish docks, I bought new jewelry and gowns, etc, (notice how the sailors did not return my stolen items upon landing) and headed to the school. (My new gowns are certainly more pale-colored than the ones I lost. However, I am enjoying the effect of light pink against my complexion. I may survive.) The transportation from the docks to the school went according to plan, and I soon arrived at Faddleworth’s Academy of Knowledge and Education. I know you’ve complained about the name being such a mouthful. Fortunately, most students here shorten it to FAKE. It certainly makes it easier to say. 

My boarding room, as I’ve previously mentioned, is very gray. It makes me feel gloomy just to look upon it. The vanity in my room, as well as being dull in color, doesn’t reflect my face correctly and only has two drawers. Where am I meant to place my hair powder and pearls?  My new roommate, previously mentioned as well, angers me deeply. Villina is completely unfashionable and refuses to listen to my invaluable advice. She insults me at least once a day and is always sneaking up behind me and hissing loudly in an obvious ploy to startle me. You may tell Mother and Father that I have not condescended to slap her yet. I find this a great sacrifice on my part. 

To be frank with you, Soran, all the students at FAKE are barbarians. I expect it’s in their foreign blood. One boy only speaks in grotesque moaning sounds. I’ve caught him wandering around at night, not romantically wandering such as I, only aimlessly and recklessly. I brushed him on accident and his skin was ice-cold. I ask you, Soran, what kind of boarding school does not properly warm their students? I expect the poor boy’s room was freezing and he was merely trying to find an extra blanket. Who recommended FAKE to Mother and Father? In my Etiquette class, there’s a girl who makes barking noises and won’t stop using her foot to scratch behind her ear, and Prof. Canidae does not ever seem to notice this atrocious breach of manners. What kind of etiquette teacher does not correct his student’s poor etiquette? Once again, I hate FAKE.

Only yesterday, I was hunting for a book in the library. My friend, Delphia, (possibly the only decent girl at FAKE) recommended a novel to me, so I decided to read it. As I scanned the shelves, I heard a distinct whispering noise coming from down the aisle. I, annoyed at the incessant noise, followed the sound. It led straight to the book I was looking for, a pretty lavender paperback with a jeweled butterfly on the cover. The name of the novel is Whispers in The Garden. Fitting, then, that I was led to it by eerie, irritating, whispers. As I checked the book out at the desk, the librarian gave me an odd look and asked me if I knew the book was “haunted”. As you well know, I do not believe in all that petty spirit business, and I told the librarian so. She did not appear to hear me, as she had ducked under the desk to play that absurd “broken-thumb game”. Do you know the one? Where you bend your thumbs, put them together, and pretend (usually to a small child) that it’s broken? Well, she had chosen this moment to play it under the library desk. Absurd. Those stitches she was covered in are probably all fake, likely meant to trick people into thinking she actually loses her limbs.

Later, as I carried the book into my room, my roommate Villina seemed inordinately interested in it. She gave me a snide remark about “people like you” and “books like that” but I ignored her as befits a young lady of my station. As I read Whispers In the Garden, I noticed notes that had been scrawled in the margins of the pages. Whoever scribbled those atrocious notes used a most glaring shade of red, and their pen leaked horribly. I’m not even sure what most of these notes mean. For example, in the first passage about the garden, they wrote ‘Release me from this glass prison’. In a section describing the main love interest, the note reads ‘He has entrapped my soul in a jar in the FAKE basement’. Next to a sentence concerning the scent of flowers, it says, ‘The jar is orange and contains fragments of snake femurs. Please break the jar and end my torment’. There were many more, but I merely glanced over them. The book itself is most wonderful, and I greatly enjoyed reading it. When I told Delphia that I enjoyed it, she seemed quite surprised.

So, now that you know who and what I am surrounded by, I hope that you see the dire need to bring me back home at once. I have given you plenty of material with which to convince Mother and Father of my plight. Please tell Father to send one of his own ships this time. I no longer trust his judgment of strange ships and crews. I hope never to leave my homeland again.

Dearest love from your sister,

Pristina