Fox 8: Dame’s Second Letter
Precious few nights have elapsed since I last wrote, my cherished and erstwhile apprentice, and let it be marked that there are only a handful of creatures crawling on earth--or slinking in the twilit and shadowy interstices--to whom I will send letters in such short intervals. The epistolary form is one that demands time and care beyond that necessitated by the crude physical act of translating from brain, to hand, to paper; a proper letter engages the intellect, the spirit, and, in the case of extraordinarily heart-felt or intimate exchanges, the soul. For a weary Dame such as myself, ceaselessly harried by and invested in the internecine campaigns of the Charlotte Court, the leisure to write with full psychic involvement is in short supply. For you, however, I make the time.
This correspondence probably finds you before you have had a chance to write me back. Forgive me; I do not wish, by any means, to seem impatient, but I believe you would appreciate the following message as soon as possible in order to make preparations.
First, do not permit anyone to read this letter. If someone is looking over your shoulder, deny them the letter and read the rest when you are alone.
Now, then. I will be traveling to Norfolk, Virginia soon. It has no Kindred presence to speak of, but others reside there whose acquaintance I value and must maintain. Since I will be so near, I propose we meet halfway, in Yorktown, which is just south of the Geo P. Coleman Memorial Bridge, north of Carcosa International Airport, and which may or may not be considered Carcosa territory by your monarch; my presence in that suburb must, therefore, be kept secret. I trust you understand the gravity of the situation. I would have you meet me in Norfolk, but I would prefer my acquaintances there to believe me returned home while I am meeting with you.
Let us meet Friday, the second day of October. We can spend the weekend together as in nights gone by, “catching up”, as people now say, and seeing how much ignorance I can slap off of you, and how many stubborn bits of manure and farm sod can be scraped from your stunted, rogue frame before the Monday aurora.
I will contact you by phone and transmit the location of our rendezvous on Friday, assuming I receive no special concerns or reservations from you before then.
With some luck, I will see you soon.
Destroy this letter, won’t you?
The Dame Victoria