--As of Spring 14th, 516AV
Her client’s name will be withhold from this matter. Thus, for the cause of this whole affair, the client will be therefore referred as “X”. Gender neutral, identity top-secret. Everybody’s happy (except nobody will).
Nora herself knew of of X’s identity, of course. Nora had to stay up all night in X’s apartments, swearing secrecy for good ol’ times sake. She had lost sleep. She had, however, gained at least a dozen gray hairs at her scalp. The greatest thing, though, was how she had struggled to maintain control. Why? Because, even if she and X had been acquaintances for some time, she had to admit to herself that X’s poetry – X’s very soul, laid bare against the sheets of messily ink-stained paper – was such a fascinating and beautifully tragic piece of shyke!
And there was simply no way Nora could have managed to save her client’s reputation. Even if the catastrophe had yet to occur. She had tried, damn it, and yet!
Lo’, the daybreak rises over Syliras, and thus beget the fall of Nora Maiden’s reputation.
She found out where Alexander’s daily guard routines happened to cross with her own ways. Then the bard tried to catch him, locking their eyes – so that she could then walk up to the young man, clear her throat and, with all of her might, try to sound official. “Are you mister Alexander Faircroft, sir?” She hoped her face will be straight enough. She hoped that she won’t accidentally burst out laughing in the middle of the performance. Hoped that this will go as well as it can. Hoped that there wasn’t nobody in this hall that would recognize her face. Yes. She hoped. “I’m here to deliver a message. From…” Oh no. A mild stutter. Keep trying, idiot! “—Your secret admirer.
X was her… her friend, she guessed, so she couldn’t just make this a mess. It will be a mess, sure, but… maybe she could… you know… limit the collateral damage…?
Yes. She kept on hoping as passionately as a young woman can. Maybe that’ll keep her voice steadier.
…
No way that’ll help. R.I.P., me.
Her client’s name will be withhold from this matter. Thus, for the cause of this whole affair, the client will be therefore referred as “X”. Gender neutral, identity top-secret. Everybody’s happy (except nobody will).
Nora herself knew of of X’s identity, of course. Nora had to stay up all night in X’s apartments, swearing secrecy for good ol’ times sake. She had lost sleep. She had, however, gained at least a dozen gray hairs at her scalp. The greatest thing, though, was how she had struggled to maintain control. Why? Because, even if she and X had been acquaintances for some time, she had to admit to herself that X’s poetry – X’s very soul, laid bare against the sheets of messily ink-stained paper – was such a fascinating and beautifully tragic piece of shyke!
And there was simply no way Nora could have managed to save her client’s reputation. Even if the catastrophe had yet to occur. She had tried, damn it, and yet!
Lo’, the daybreak rises over Syliras, and thus beget the fall of Nora Maiden’s reputation.
She found out where Alexander’s daily guard routines happened to cross with her own ways. Then the bard tried to catch him, locking their eyes – so that she could then walk up to the young man, clear her throat and, with all of her might, try to sound official. “Are you mister Alexander Faircroft, sir?” She hoped her face will be straight enough. She hoped that she won’t accidentally burst out laughing in the middle of the performance. Hoped that this will go as well as it can. Hoped that there wasn’t nobody in this hall that would recognize her face. Yes. She hoped. “I’m here to deliver a message. From…” Oh no. A mild stutter. Keep trying, idiot! “—Your secret admirer.
X was her… her friend, she guessed, so she couldn’t just make this a mess. It will be a mess, sure, but… maybe she could… you know… limit the collateral damage…?
Yes. She kept on hoping as passionately as a young woman can. Maybe that’ll keep her voice steadier.
…
No way that’ll help. R.I.P., me.