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Dear Cass.
I have the pleasure to write this letter from the comfort of my carriage. I'm now on my third day of traveling through the Italian frontier . Before you can express any sort of preoccupation, as if insanity were to befall me during my journey, let me tell you that the trees and the birds have proven themselves to be wonderful company.
Not only that, but i also have discovered new and exciting ways to keep myself entertained like any fine lady should, per example: unravel the seams of the carriage curtains and embroider them on my undergarments, paint the ceiling with hard to remove oil based paint, catalog rocks in the road by shape and color, paint the soles of my boots a different shade depending the weather, and the most recurrent one; muffle my screams of desperation with the pillowcase.
All of it with a lot of class and demure as mom has taught us, of course.
However, that's not the purpose of this letter.
My dear Cass, you are not going to believe who has requested my services!
The Most Holy Catholic Church themselves.
About six months ago I received a letter, sent by a clergyman called Nicholas something, from who knows where, who is in charge of a small chapel here in Italy.
They want me to paint for them, and I know what thoughts may be crossing your head, Cass. This is not the same as the way the people in Rome wanted me to paint for them.
I won't let my work burn again.
You know I'm not a forgiving person, I ignored the request.
Yet, more letters keep arriving, addressed by this “Abbot Nicholas”, all formal in their request, however the way they were written turned them strange and intermittent. However, that is not what made me travel all the way from England.
it was the people.
Everywhere i went people seemed to know all about this man, although none of their stories i heard seemed consistent at all, excepting one thing clear in all of them:
That man fighted the devil.
And won.
You may understand why my curiosity has been picked.
They want the whole vault painted in two years, during that time I get to do anything I want with it and earn a lot of money in the process, not a job i'm particularly excited about, but sounds good on paper, don’t you think? Besides, if I don't like it, I can simply leave.
It’s not like I'm going to turn into a nun or something.
…
Cass…
A day has passed since I wrote the first part of this letter. I'm planning to send everything I wrote to you once I reach the small town close to the monastery…
Something has been bothering me.
I feel like this trip has been way longer than what It should be, I look into the window and it's like the landscape never changes. I count trees and I see rocks that I am convinced to have seen before, but still different from the ones I saw the day before.
When I questioned the driver about it, he didn't seem to know what I was talking about.
I haven’t had one single dream at night since I put my foot inside this carriage.
I find myself waking up at different hours. In those moments as I open my eyes, strange shadows can be seen through the carriage curtains, followed by sounds I'm not sure how to explain. At first I feared my mind was going to waste, but now I'm convinced these are not a product of my never ending boredom, simply because the horses seem terribly anxious too.
On top of that I ran through my stash of caster sugar on the second day.
I can't wait for the hellish ride to be over. so if you receive this letter please assume I have not been murdered yet.
kindest regards, your friend Imuri.