The pain in Sal’s hands kept her awake from time to time that night. She kept them hidden in her dress, hoping it would ease the pain away but it only grew stronger as the night came.

Her senses became more roused at the sound of rustling.

Lea was at the bedside table running her hands across a paper. Sal kept herself awake and listened on.

“Look at what you did.” Lea mumbled.

Sal quickly closed her eyes.

“So, you’re awake, huh.” She laid out the letter flat on the table.

Common manners dictate that Sal should apologize, but common manners be damned. The paper is cursed. Wretched. Sal only regretted being too weak to finally dispose of it. Too weak to part with objects like the maid said.

“I thought you’d apologize.”

Sal kept silent.

“Quit staring, that’s creepy. Say something.”

It didn’t matter. Sal’s words do not matter. She would not believe her anyway. Sal is always the wrong one.

“I bet you must have cringed. My admirer writes better letters than one you’ll ever see. Well, when you get at the right age, you’ll see that-”

“Seventeen.” Sal shook her head. “Girls marry at seventeen.”

“Ohh.” The woman’s voice turned a higher pitch. “ I was only jesting.”

“But this letter is important to me. You see, it was from a really special guy.” Lea opened the lamp, lighting both of their faces.

The woman must be stupid. Nothing in that letter spells out any words from a lover. Sal only kept her head under the pillow, trying to block out Lea’s spiels.

“He was a really special man. I bet you’re too innocent about the”

“I’m seventeen years old.”

“Oh, so you’re jealous for not having received a letter like this?” “A beautiful woman.” Sal peeked out her head to see Lea flipping her braid, pleased at the statement “will let the words of the lover’s letter speak for itself of her desirability. ” Sal buried her face again in the pillow yet only pricking her hands.

Lea grabbed Sal’s hand and inspected it. Before long, she went out of the room and came back with a strange-looking leaf which she peeled open and rubbed the sticky gel from it into Sal’s fingertips. Neither of them spoke. All the while, Sal flinched from the contact.

“I used to hate it when he held my hand too.” Lea kept on. “ The sender of this letter I mean.”

Sal kept her eyes on the moon, on the shapes of the trees outside. And her ears on the sounds of the frogs. And yet, she knew she was listening with intent at Lea’s explanation. An explanation of a cursed object.

“I used to hate him. He was a bad man, I thought. If he was not there, I would not suffer. “ Lea’s voice broke.”But I was a brat.”

Sal kept her head down as the woman in front of her seemed to show signs of a melancholy.

“Drama aside, the letter must have been worded poorly.”

Sal wrenched her hand from her grasp. “The letter was eloquently written, although the handwriting was ugly. The Caligarian was better than I have expected but a child could do better. He hemmed and hawed in his statements. Not a straightforward one. A decent, but aptly forgettable letter.”

“ As expected of you, Signorina Cuorre.”

Sal reeled back. The woman sparkled black against the lamplight. Her shadow growing bigger.

Sal shielded herself with the mattress, wrapping it around herself.

The woman continued, “You were amazing earlier. I thought we would not be able to get home.” Her voice still and calm. HEr face was black to her. Her words opaque.

“Lying.” Sal thought aloud.

“Who cares. At least, you deciphered them for me. It can never be a love letter, but I was never sure even though I’ve looked at it for a hundred times.”

Sal held her the mattress close to her chest. “Don’t drive me away. Don’t tell on me.”

The woman approached, “As long as you help me find something, I will keep your secret.”