Dearest Sister,
I shall tell you of my living situation only if you promise not to feel any more sorry for me than I do for myself.
After She banished us—so close to the Solstice and the dark times—I found shelter in the attic rooms of an old building owned by Baba Yaga herself. How I met her is a tale for another letter. My first days here have been quiet but alas, the streets now erupt with students returned like rooks to a cliff and my head aches from the constant din. Were we ever that noisy? I mutter the old spells that no longer have meaning, thump around the house, and wonder how I could have become so powerless. At least Baba Yaga has her iron teeth.
As to the Queen, she has kept her power close and does not drizzle it away. And who knew that the threads of power that surrounded us, cradled us, held us firm, could become unknotted, leaving us as weakened as we are now? As pretty seedlings we squandered our power, giving it to any who pleased us, never thinking for a moment we might be emptied of it like an upturned basket of seed.
There is so much I want to tell you, but this little dove of yours has not the strength to carry away many pages. So let me tell you how they send long letters here. For a few coins you can purchase a little seal—called for some reason a “stamp”—with a picture of a bell with the word “forever” on it. Stick this seal on an envelope after putting your letter inside and write the following in three lines I shall include at the bottom of my letter. No doubt you see the humor in my new name, Sophia Underhill.
Now, you must write your Mortal Name, the number, street, city, state, and code of your abode on the back of the envelope. Find a letter that surely will be in a little box by your door. It will have all the information you need. There are big blue boxes on the street with eagles painted on them, put your letter to me there and a man dressed in blue with an eagle sigil on his breast will take it from the box and bring it to me. Better an eagle than a dove, don’t you agree?
There’s a girl that weeps every night in the rooms below. I have decided I shall go down there to see what has so ailed her. I may not be able to give her something to alleviate her sorrow, but I can still make tea and offer a comfortable shoulder. And perhaps find my own comfort in your absence.
She who cries every night for you,
M now called Sophia