Dear Polly,

I had to write, because you're the only one who will understand. Or maybe not. Either way, you'll indulge my foolishness before you tell me so.

I'm sure I wrote to tell you what I did to the apple tree - how could I not? It was a tragedy, but if life gives you lemons and all that. Or apples, as I suppose the case may be. Oh dear, I'm getting off track again and I can almost feel your impatience. Well, to cut to the quick of it, I can smell the apples. The wood of the new wardrobe has been varnished and sealed, and is most certainly dead, but all through the house it's all I can smell. I can almost taste it - crisp and sweet, spicy and light, as if it could melt in your mouth, but warm and so so close -

Anyway, I think you get the idea. Just the suggestion of the taste and I find myself walking through the house and suddenly I'm standing before the wardrobe, contemplating the tree again. When I commissioned that carving, I thought it would be a good reminder of our adventures, but I swear all it's brought me so far is a reminder of my failings.

I've had the Ivy bring in fresh flowers, tried burning citrus wood, even burning incense! But it's all in vain. And not another soul in the house smells it but me. In fact, I've taken to bringing my work outdoors to the back table, which, of course, prompts Mrs. Macready to make comments about me "catching my death of cold". It's like I can have no peace!

If I'm to suppose why I'm so bothered by what should be a delicious perfume, to anticipate your question, dear friend, I would probably be fooling only myself if I said I didn't know. There's still something of the fearful temptation in it, and I don't quite trust myself. Would you? But perhaps, though I distrust my own strength against it, I can trust the wisdom of He who made the tree.

But I've rambled on far too long and I'm sure your patience has worn thin. I'm not sure what entirely my point was in writing to you - I don't suppose any of your wonderfully practical advise applies to phantom smells?

Your friend,

Digory Kirk


"Taste is often neglected in stories. Write a story about taste."

Letters are fun. Letters are easy. Letters are quick. Well, only when they're fictional XD Hopefully Digory holds up under scrutiny...well, at least when you squint and turn your head to the side a little

haha now I'm off to write a close reading of a short section of Castle Rackrent by Maria Edgeworth which is due in...oh golly that's an hour and a half RIP

If you don't see me tomorrow it's probably because I drowned in late penalties. Allons-y!

Trix