Sing Me a Letter

615 words (excluding headlines)

Songs for the Weary

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At the break of dawn, the song of over a hundred vespires rode along the winds. This was a common occurrence near the Pastel River. At the bottom of Canvas Mountain, a cottage was surround by these streams of waters and the streams of song.

Daylight stretched through a window into the silk hair of an overworked artist. Luverne saw the moon way past midnight for the third time that week. A golden framed with ivy and carnations carved into its glistening sides held the bust of an individual that was robbing the sleep from this pouflon. This painting tormented Luverne for a countless number of days, but he was willing to withstand all of its torture to see the brightening smile of his client.

This client, truth be told, was happy with any and every piece Luverne made, down to the sketches. If Luverne had allowed him, his client would've just purchased the sketches. However Luverne wouldn't show his rough drafts to the light of day, for they weren't fit for anyone other than him to look at. The only way his client saw these sketches a few times was due to Luverne's own negligence to hide them.

That morning however, Luverne had successfully stashed away his doodles. All art-related work was stored away as he was preparing to get his mindset ready to do outside jobs. All week, his art drive had pushed him into a state of desperation, and the best way he figured he'd meet this undefined art need was through seeing the world through, what he called, a "normal average pouflon's vision with family investing in their future". This just meant doing anything related to knighthood without picking up a sword, at least for work. There was no doubt though, he had cutout a paper sword and acted as a knight defeating paper dummies on Wednesday.

However today, he had returned from finishing a delivery run for an odd pouflon named Quincey that flew into him in literal terms. Conveniently, Luverne's current commissioner flew to his front door just after Luverne had cleaned up his home, and his client cried, "Somebody! SOME BODY! Send some help up in this place!!"

Praise Not Warranted

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Luverne didn't even answer the door yet, so this was quite the confusing cry his client was making. It was then apparent Luverne hadn't put much care into covering the painting for his client, and the commissioner could clearly see a peek of it pass the white sheet hastily thrown over it. How foolish Luverne felt having his commissioner's first impression of the painting be a shiny smirk behind a curtain through a window. Nevertheless, Luverne opened the door to allow his client to almost knock him over to run to see the art.

"Luverne, I'm crying so much! This piece, sends me--" the rest of what his client said was not distinguishable as the client started crying in another language. "Just gorgeous, my nana will be so pleased, I love--" his client sung, and stated the rest of his delight yet again in words Luverne could not understand.

"Ah, it brings much joy to my pity of a heart that you feel this way about my work," the tired artist murmured.

"Wonderful, wonderful, wonderful!" this melody flowed out of Luverne's client. In the midst of his client's beautiful song, that commissioner ran out the door with the painting on his back.

Luverne lifted his worn legs to wander the room to retrieve the bundles of coin-filled pounces thrown all over the floor during his client's outbursts. Luverne didn't ask for these tips, but who could stop someone from throwing money at one's work when one could barely understand them?