Total pages in book: 123
Estimated words: 117176 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 586(@200wpm)___ 469(@250wpm)___ 391(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 117176 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 586(@200wpm)___ 469(@250wpm)___ 391(@300wpm)
I no longer felt the need, the insistent pull toward Arabella’s tragic tale. Maybe it was because I had somehow broken the invisible chains that kept me shackled to the past stories of the castle when I decided to give my own tale another chance.
To re-write my own story, without the tragic ending.
“I left them unopened,” I said to Mirai. For specific reasons that I didn’t have to tell her.
“Yes, about that. Don’t be mad at me,” she started, practically pleading. “I was just so curious and I couldn’t stop myself. So um, I opened those letters and read through them.”
“Oh.” I shook my head, half-smiling. “Why am I not surprised?”
“But Julianna, you have to see this!” Her shrill voice came through the phone and I winced. “All this time, we thought wrong. You have to read through Elias’s letters. It gives you a whole new perspective of things.”
My chest squeezed at the thought of going back down that path. Obsessing over that cursed story, like it was my own. “I don’t think I should.”
“Fine,” she said, quickly relenting. “You don’t have to read through all of them. I’ll send you the only important one. It’s short, but it tells you everything we need to know. The details we were missing in Arabella’s story.”
To appease Mirai and her pure enthusiasm, I agreed. “Send me a photo.”
“Yes!” I imagined her pumping her fists in the air. She really was a ball of innocence and joy. Though her story was also tainted by the cruelty of fate, Mirai didn’t allow it to deter her from finding joy in the little things in life.
Two seconds later, my phone vibrated with a notification. I opened the message and tapped on the photo that Mirai sent me. “Did you get it?” she questioned.
I hummed in response. “Yes, give me a minute to read through it.”
Arabella,
I have thought of how to start this letter more times than I could count. Though every time I begin to write the first sentence, I find myself without words.
I did not know when it started or how it started.
Maybe it was the first time when you openly wept in my arms after the loss of our first child. Or maybe it was the time when we waltzed at Appleton’s Ball and you had worn that emerald dress, matching the color of your eyes. I remembered your shy smile when I had complimented your looks.
And I still do remember the taste of that peach tart on your lips.
I do not know when but somehow, you have started to take over my thoughts.
Your shy smile. Your tender touch. Your soft lips.
I now noticed things I never did before.
The way your fingers glide over the piano with sweet precision.
You prefer peaches over strawberries.
You prefer reading Shakespearean tragedies over watching an opera.
Your favorite color is pastel-blue, specifically.
I notice the way your lips curl with a gentle smile at Charlotte’s laughter. I can see how much you adore my sister’s baby and I can feel how much it pains you.
What I had with Rosa was young love, pretty and immature. Reckless. For the longest time, I thought I knew what it meant to be in love. But I had not even scratched the surface of it.
Until my feelings for you matured over the last four years of our marriage. It started slow, burning through me, but I was too foolish to understand it.
Now that I do, I fear it has taken me too long and that I might have lost you forever.
I hope you can forgive me.
I hope you allow me another chance.
Our marriage is more than a ruse, my sweet Arabella.
When I return from this expedition, I vow to woo you the way you deserved to be wooed from the very beginning.
Your husband,
Elias.
My heart stammered in my chest and I reread the letter again, to confirm that what I read was indeed correct.
“Have you read it yet?” Mirai asked.
“Yes.” How cruel could fate be?
The only thing Arabella ever wanted was to have her husband’s love and adoration. She craved Elias’s undivided attention. She waited for four very long years, while her husband loved another.
“His letters didn’t reach her on time,” Mirai whispered, sounding quite heartbroken. “While Elias was cutting his trip short to surprise his wife, Arabella died thinking she was unloved.”
Arabella persevered through her marriage and when it was finally time to reap the sweet fruits of her patience, fate decided to play a twisted joke on her. How unfair that her story was written with such cruelty and tragedy.
“Elias died two months after Arabella, right?” I asked Mirai for confirmation.
“Yes. The rumors were that he died of heartbreak when he found out that his ex-lover had married another man.”
“The rumors were not true,” I muttered.
“No. There are more letters written by Elias after the passing of Arabella, detailing his distress and heartache over his wife’s death,” Mirai said, her voice thick with emotion. “It’s true he died of heartbreak. But not because of his ex-lover. He mourned Arabella’s death and the pain was too much for him to bear. He died of heartbreak…”