Setting my axe over my shoulder like a proper farm girl, regretting it immediately, and plopping the tool down against the mailbox post, I brush off my clothes. With somewhat more muted enthusiasm, I open the little mailbox door and pluck a remarkably nice envelope from beside an old bird nest.
Mm.
Lovely.
I will have to clean this out, too, I guess.
Why couldn’t I have had a nice, uncomplicated, hyper-realistic dream thatstartedin Samson’s arms? Why did I have to begin this lucid masterpiece with so much housework?
Sighing, I pop the seal on the envelope and read:
Dear Citrus,
I want to apologize for leaving you in such dire straits. There’s a lot about Gem Ridge that it’s too soon to share, but know that I believe everyone who ends up here is here for a reason.
Ever since the disaster, I’ve had a lot to manage alone, so it’s a relief to know someone else will be pitching in.
That said, please accept the enclosed amount. It isn’t much, but it’s what I can offer right now while we’re still piecing ourselves back together.
Perhaps while you gather supplies in town with these funds, you can introduce yourself to the locals?
Just a thought.
We could really use the refreshing presence of a newcomer right about now.
I have an uncanny feeling about you.
Sincerely,
Lord Lazul
If I had to guess, that “uncanny feeling” is guilt.
While I haven’t yet gotten a chance to see my face, I made Citrus a petite thing, shorter than me. Cuter. Big eyes, round nose, sweet smile.
As adorable as the slew of generic pixelated options allowed.
From what I can tell, my hair is Citrus’s shoulder-length sunny gold, I’ve got the glasses and the dress, and my figure is giving the essence ofconsumes more than a single tear-soaked burger a day.
Looking like Citrus means I am the human equivalent of a plumped up little mourning dove.
And Lazul made me sleep withspiders.
I hope the guilt of thatuncanny feelingconsumes him.
As I’m stuffing the letter back in the posh envelope, a gold coin catches my attention.
That’s right.
His letter mentioned that he was paying for his sins.
A single coin of penance is utter nonsense, but Lazul’s a pompous rich kid, not a monumental jerk butt, so I wonder ifcurrency stacks differently than I’m used to in the game. Maybe my weird little pine cone of a brain is taking further creative liberties.
“The outhouse was off-script enough, thanks,” I mutter, swinging my pack around.
I fish out my journal and go to my inventory page.
One thousand coins.
