Snippet #2019770

Hazel followed Mr. Morris. If he wasn't a doctor, then he was some sort of nurse or student. An interesting occupation. She liked intelligent men, even if Alan was dreadfully silent. He spoke her name and she moved over to the desk. It was finely coated in dust, which she wrinkled her nose at, but more importantly he was holding an envelope.

Without asking, she took the one with her name written in ink and opened the wax seal expertly with a flick of her long, pale fingers. She cast the paper envelope to the ground and read over the letter. The handwriting was the same as the ink written on her arm.

Hazel,

It's me, Hazel. I'm writing this letter to myself because I know after I drink this I will have forgotten everything. I also took the courtesy of writing my name on my arm. My name is Hazel Edgar. Where you used to live won't be important, but know this. You must find a way out of the castle, or at least find a way to survive. There are .. things here. I don't know what they look like yet, but they're here. I can hear them. There's also a man I met recently, his name is Alan Morris. He's a doctor. If you can find him, tell him your name is Hazel, maybe he'll remember. Keep him around. He might be quiet, but he seems useful. And remember, whatever you see in this place, you must stay strong. You are an Edgar. Don't give up hope.

The letter ended with a foreboding line of ink where a quill had been dragged down the paper, as well as splotches of black ink toward the bottom right side. Emotionlessly she tucked the letter into the front of her dress. This must be some sort of intricate lie. It must be.