Author's Note: I seriously feel I need to reiterate something. This is not a long, continuous story. This is a series of drabbles. Drabbles are meant to be short pieces, exactly 100 words in length. The exact definition varies, but this is what these are. 100 word pieces. The point of these is not to tell a long story, but just short bits of what could be a longer story. But it isn't. So please, don't tell me they need to be longer. It is supposed to be short. (how many times do I have to say this for it to sink in?)
You haven't seen the last of me.
How many times she re-read these words, she did not know. Over and over again she read them, each time seeming as if it were the first. They had not been signed, but there was no need. That snowy owl was unmistakable.
She set the letter down and began to cry. They were the tears she had been stubbornly holding back since the funeral – the day he gave her his horrible news. His decision. His choice.
He was so stupid, with all his noble and chivalric deeds.
And she loved him for it.