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11 mos ago
New Latin, from Greek, rye


[ [ – b i o – ] ]


noun | ʙ ʀ ɪ • ᴢ ᴀ | \ ˈ ʙ ʀ ɪ̄ ᴢ ə \
a genus of grasses (family gramineae) native to the old world & south america;
distinguished by broad spikelets & cordate lemmas — see quaking grass

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𝒟ear 𝒮usanna,

𝑀ay this letter find you in good standing.

𝒮ince the funeral of your beloved brother, the truest comrade a man may claim as his own, I have not been able to keep myself from wondering how you are fairing through the trials that the good one has placed over the Empire. As for my well-being, some days have been better than others, and today has been blessed as an exceptionally interesting one. It appears that I shall be stationed very close to your whereabouts. With your permission, I would very much appreciate a moment of your time upon my arrival, if not for my own sanity's sake, for the tender care that your brother always held in his voice when speaking of you.

𝒲ith 𝒦ind 𝑅egards,

𝑅orric 𝑀ornar

In the letter, Susanna thought, Rorric was being far too straight to the point, and she did not understand if it were because the soldier was a dull man of little wit or perhaps, even worse, a man strapped to an unfortunately high intelligence and therefore, lacked any form of real empathy. She feared he was the latter of the two options and wished he had not written to her at all. However, it could be true that through all these grim events -- the fall of the empire, the war, the death of her brother -- there was now a blinding bitterness that had grown inside of her and was only allowing her to see the worst in everything and everyone around her. If this were the truth, then was she not just as apathetic of a person? No, she refused to let herself believe anything of the sort. As a nurse, she felt it was her duty to uphold some sort of optimism through the mists of humanity's decay, and feeling the need to second guess herself, she shook her head and read over Rorric's letter, again.

Her brown eyes shifted over his signature repeatedly by the end of her second read through. They studied the fine curves that had been etched quickly on the paper. She wanted to believe that by studying his signature she would be able to grasp what sort of man he was, and to make matters a little more mysterious, she could barely remember him at her brother's funeral. No one was ever themselves at a person's funeral. Even then, it still pained her to think back on it, and it pained her more when she remembered the fallen soldiers who had died under her watch.

There was really no sense in getting worked up over these sorts of things. At least, not now. So, hastily and without much thought, she folded the letter, slid it back into its envelope, placed it on the small stool stand (decorated with a simple, hand-made headscarf and a framed picture of her family) at her bedside, and told herself that she would look at it later. She would sit down and think of a reply when she had better tended her own wounds by which meant tending the wounds of others. Susanna drew in a deep breath and patted down her uniform dress as if washing herself clean of some dirty spirit that had grabbed hold of her while she was reading Rorric's letter. She ran a hand through her brown hair, tied in a neat bun and re-positioned her cap.

It was much too early for this.
Reporting for duty.
I like it when my boyfriend randomly sniffs my hair in public. It's superbly awkward and makes me happy.

Happy is a five (5) letter word. ♥(ˆ⌣ˆԅ) n i f f n i f f
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