Galileo

My Dearest Galileo, 

Your gifts drew many eyes. But as I sit here, and I write, I wonder if that isn’t what you wanted. Is the center of attention just as grand even if you aren’t there to witness it yourself? As my thanks, then, I will tell you that for days after I was ceaselessly asked of you. I’ve painted enough pictures of you through conversation ( as vividly as I was able, for as I’m sure you know distance and time clouds the mind’s eye ) that I’m certain half the order could pick your face from a crowd. And when you visit next, I am sure they will do just that. 

I know you asked of my childhood, where I came up, and I must admit it is this that has delayed my response for so long. I know your free time is terribly fleeting, and it would pain me to waste it, but I must say there is simply nothing special to the years of my youth. It is too bland a story to recount in depth ( far too comfortable to be a tragedy, yet not quite beautiful enough to tell fondly of ). And, if I’m being as honest as I’ve promised to be, I don’t think you care to hear much of it anyway. 

I think you know where I was raised. And I think that’s why you bothered to ask at all. So fine, my beloved. I will tell you of the Sawtine manor. 

Now you mustn’t think I am cross with you. I understand, truly, I do. The rumors are just as grand as they are many, and some of them are half truths. But most are rumors, as disappointing it might be. 

People are right to be leery of this place. Have you ever seen those plants that consume living creatures? I know a naval soldier does not often see the land, but you do travel, and I’m certain you have seen so much more than I. But I digress, these plants are beautiful ( or, so the texts say them to be ). They’re vivid and wild and tempting to both men and beast alike. And they smell sickly sweet, like honey, to tempt insects closer. And the moment they land, the plants close around them and slowly begin to feed. And I think the estate is similar in many ways. Not quite so dramatic or nefarious, but I think that place can be a poison. I wouldn’t say it is entirely the land’s fault, because I think any noble home is corroding to some degree, but there is something about this place in particular. Did you know of the family before us? It took a great deal of prying to wrench the truth out from some of the older estate staff, and I understood why when I got it. 

The Courteys, owners of Sawtine just under a decade before it was gifted to my father. From what I could find, they were a pleasant family before. A small one, two daughters, head of the house Isaferal and his darling wife - picturesque by all accounts. They were known well for their lavish parties, extravagant gifts to nearby lords, and all around being that… Enviable sort of happy. I think you called it revolting in jest, once, but I could see there was genuine distaste behind your eyes. I think I’d like to have that, someday. Something happy, and pretty, and light. I don’t even need the fame, you know. I heard the house heads were two sides of the same coin. They were the moon, and the stars. They were different, but none could say they were not madly in love. Doesn’t everyone want that? Don’t you, Galileo? 

I suppose I’m getting off topic, aren’t I… 

They were adored by all, and viewed as the very personification of success ( the wealth, the land, the children, you know ). So when Isaferal and his daughters were found dead in the manor’s dining hall, slumped cold against their plates, they say not even the sky could stave off tears at their demise ( It is details like this that make me wonder how much of the tale is truth, and how much of it is dramatization. It doesn’t matter to me either way, I just love a good story ). Darling wife and mother of two was never found, but it could only be assumed it was she at fault. What sort of person leaves their family poisoned, dead at dinner table? What sort of monster kills their own children? 

It was the estate staff that first began the rumors of possession, that it was the house’s influence. Many quit. They swore their lady too pure of heart to do this in her right mind, of her own accord. I asked my wet nurse of the rumors, once. It was when I was younger and not yet aware of how the best questions could never be asked outright. I still remember how the smile fell from her face so sharply I worried it might shatter into her stomach. She put my sibling down ( I cannot remember which it was ), and lowered herself to the balls of her feet in front of me. She was always quite docile, really. I think back now, and figure the woman simply too dependent in my mother’s coin to risk disciplining us. 

But this time, she grabbed me firm by my shoulders, and refused to release me until I swore never to chase ghosts again ( I hadn’t, and still do not, have the heart to tell her there was no point in chasing what I could not escape from ). 

There is more to this place. There are more stories, more truths, more secrets, more ghosts. But I have promised you honesty, and here you will have it: I fear I may not hear from you lest I keep some mystery for you to pursue. 

I miss you, my love. Stay brave, and stay safe. You are in my heart. 

Always, 

Seth Alder LeClerq