From Ms. Buvelle
I have been keeping watch of your recovery in the groundskeeper's shed for some time now. The concert is long past, and I can spare the time for a friend in need. I regret not seeing you there. Forgive me, too, for taking space in your journal. It must have fell out of your robe as your friend Lucid unceremoniously dragged you in here. I asked him for some time alone with you.
This shall be between only you and I for now.
What I've observed of you, unassuming Summoner, compels me to consider a dramatic change of pace. You are almost as reserved and shy as my childhood self. I hear so much song in your head, but speaking is not your strength yet. Expression hard for many people, even for artists. True expression eludes us all, I think. Music and speech both fall short in their own ways.
I cannot say I know what true expression is. I am mute after all. Sometimes I wonder what it is like to converse in speech, in a different tongue from music.
We both come from the same world, thrust into a strange new one. If you would, let us try to make our lives here. Some small steps come to mind. Take risks, embark on adventures, feel for what works and what does not. At times various situations may become awkward, and we may end up misunderstood by our peers. On the way, disappointment may hinder us often. But I have a feeling you would make a great partner in this endeavor.
I know you yearn for a chance like this, as you mused so idly to me after out last match. So do I.
There is time enough I can spare to escape my regular schedule. News of where we go will be a pleasant surprise for you. Perhaps this destination shall take your mind off of your inner tormentors for a while.
I wish it does distract me from mine.
When you wake up, more particulars shall be presented to you. Hang in there!
Forever yours,
Sona Buvelle