I would like you to know that I am not writing this letter because I wish to, but because my hormones refuse to let me stop thinking until I have crafted this letter. Of course, with my perfectionist nature, I am troubled with the task of making this a wondrous piece of writing that will set the stars ablaze in the future, while in my heart a war rages between my disgust and my love.
Maria, every time I see you my heart begins to war with itself. In my head I find you repellent, a cooper’s daughter who is clumsy, rude and downright abominable in her manner of speaking. Yet my heart fills with love, churning as a stomach is wont to do following a night of drinking. I should, nay, I must find you repellent as a man of my standing, but I appear to desire that I would have you in ways other than your position as a servant.
Maria, why do you vex me so? I am committed to my work and yet you insist on stealing, unannounced and unwelcome into my thoughts. I have a taste for blondes and yet your hair is brown. I like eyes in which I can see everything on the surface and yet your blue eyes pull me in. Even your voice, coarse and harsh, cuts through to my ears as if it were the finest melody.
Maria, I wish to meet with you. I wish to find out who I should follow, my heart or my head. Should I find your company as repellent as indeed I should, then consider this our final correspondence. However, should my heart prove to be correct and your flaws turn out to be virtues, then I beg of you to keep this letter and the many that will follow.
Meet me by Hangman’s Tree at midnight, three days hence.
I will be waiting.
Ernest Cartwright, heir elect to the Duchy of Caporstun
The Idiot in Tin Foil