Favourite treats

Hello Rosie, Asha’s voice, soft and dreamy as always, carries through her quill strokes like a melody that might float on a gentle breeze.

You’re so kind to write back. It’s funny, I could almost feel the warmth of your words before I even opened the letter, like they were waiting to wrap me up in something soft and safe. Isn’t it strange how a letter can feel more like home than a place sometimes?

Asha pauses, the ink pooling on the page as her thoughts wander.

I think of Val Royeaux sometimes, though I’ve only ever seen it in stories and paintings. It seems like a city where dreams and reality might touch. But I imagine Ferelden in winter would still tug at your heartstrings—icy toes and all. I hope your hearth stays bright, though, and that you have slippers thick enough to keep your feet warm.

There’s a hesitation in the writing, a slight tremor in the ink.

Your words about grounding… they stayed with me. Like a small light I can carry in my pocket, just for when the shadows stretch too long. I think, maybe, I’ve been looking for what grounds me, without realizing it. The stars help sometimes. Did you know they’re the same no matter where you go? Even here, in the parts of the world where everything else feels too big, the stars are small and familiar.

She leans back, staring at the letter as though speaking to it directly.

An animal or magical device that can carry words sounds like the sort of thing a fairy tale would have, doesn’t it? I’m not very good at enchanting—my magic always feels a little wild, like a bird that doesn’t want to stay in its cage—but I might try. It would be nice to have a way for letters to find me, even when I don’t know where I’ll be. Maybe I’ll find a clever raven or a sparrow with a sense of adventure. That would suit, don’t you think?

Her tone shifts slightly, lighter, with a trace of a smile.

Oh, and the chocolate cake! Rosie, you’re too good to me. I still think about that cake sometimes, the way Cullen’s whole face lit up when he tasted it. It’s like sweetness can cut through even the deepest gloom, isn’t it? I’ll dream of it tonight, I think—a warm kitchen, the smell of chocolate, and the sound of laughter. I wonder if dreams like that are a kind of grounding, too.

Her writing softens as she closes.

Thank you, Rosie, for being you. For reminding me that there’s still a home to come back to, even if I can’t quite see the path yet. I’ll keep trying to be brave, and maybe one day, I’ll find my feet moving again. Until then, I’ll carry your letter like a talisman, something small and strong to hold onto when the world feels too big.

Take care of yourself, won’t you? The world feels less sharp, knowing you’re in it.

Yours, always,

Asha

@Rosalie Rutherford