#35.
To my secretive friend, Coco.
You say you’ve gathered all the torn pieces of the letter scattered along the Thames. What a cute lie.
There is nothing cuter than someone as sharp as you, being utterly unskillful at lying.
Imagining you hesitating, thinking about how to tell me, makes me even more curious about what really happened this morning.
But, asking someone who doesn’t want to talk is of no good. That’s one of the few bits of wisdom I’ve learned over twenty-some years of life.
When I say ‘learned with my body’… well, I mean that I learned this by getting hit by my beloved sister. Lessons learned through wounds are not easily forgotten.
So, though I have a burning desire to know everything about you, I won’t insist on learning what happened.
However, Coco.
Just remember one thing.
If you ever feel the need to talk about this with someone, that person shouldn’t be Liam, Juliet, or even your walls at home—it must be me.
If you casually call out, ‘Hey Archie,’ I’ll be ready anytime, sitting in front of the bookshelf, prepared to listen to your endlessly flowing chatter.
On the evening of the last day of the first month of summer.
– Archie Albert, who is now filled with curiosity about all of you, despite a lifelong resolution to live without overthinking.
P.S. I thought I’d leave this alone, figuring you’d tell me when the time was right. But isn’t it about time you told me how Anne Selene’s manuscript is coming along?
* * *
To my prince, who possesses nearly all the virtues a friend should have.
Among your many admirable qualities, I believe patience should be praised first. Even though you’re sharp enough to notice when something is left unsaid, you’re the only one I know who can suppress such curiosity.
As for me, I’ve been so thoughtless, not mentioning Anne Selene until you asked.
Actually, Archie, when you were injured and bedridden, something major happened with the manuscript.
It’s not the tragic case of me losing the entire manuscript again, but in a way, it’s even more serious.
You see, Anne Selene’s manuscript…
The manuscript…
…is boring.
Up until the part where they search for Florian, the manuscript was incredibly interesting—so much so that I couldn’t put it down.
But suddenly, all that excitement vanished, as if it had never existed.
Everyone in our editorial department is really shocked. It feels like the author has completely changed. Did Anne Selene suddenly leave for the Kingdom of Winzerton and send over the head archivist of its magnificently lazy history department instead?
The sharp, witty sentences from the beginning are all gone, and now the writing is just a list of facts.
If even I feel this way, you can imagine how our picky editor-in-chief, Marianne, must feel, right? Though she hasn’t said a word, she’s practically walking around with ‘I told you so’ written on her forehead. I didn’t mention it before, but she was reluctant about publishing this manuscript from the start. I was the one who pushed for it stubbornly…
Now, with things turning out like this, my already-small standing within the editorial office is shrinking even further. I’ll soon have to balance on one leg, hopping around. Well, it’s not so bad hopping on one leg, talking with Juliet in a corner barely the size of a paperback book, but at this rate, I might actually get a cramp.
About a week ago, I even brought this up with Liam. I told him that the reaction to the manuscript wasn’t good and that maybe Anne Selene should take another look at it. And then, to my surprise, he got upset!
Well, would you call it upset? His calm face suddenly turned pale, and he collapsed into a chair, clutching his head.
‘Is it… really that bad?’
I quickly said,
‘Well, it’s not the worst, Liam.’
‘Right? It’s not the worst? So the writing isn’t…’
‘The writing isn’t good. It’s as if she never had the talent, to begin with. Isn’t that strange? It’s not the worst, but…’
‘Yeah, it’s not the worst, right? That’s enough.’
‘…But in terms of the lack of excitement, it’s worse than the worst.’
‘There’s something worse than the worst.’
Liam hung his head low, looking genuinely hurt. I almost wondered if Liam himself had written the manuscript.
‘That’s why… writing a book isn’t something to be taken lightly… ah…’
He even muttered that, so you can imagine why I might have thought so.
But, prince, Liam is a bit different from you. He never writes me letters, no matter how much I beg him. Someone like that couldn’t have written this book, right? So I asked him if it was about Anne Selene. He nodded.
‘Anne Selene… I think she made a mistake. Releasing a sequel was a bad idea. Well, it had to be released, but it should’ve been much shorter. Writing the follow-up was really a mistake.’
Liam kept muttering.
It was quite strange. You see, Liam is never one to talk unnecessarily.
If anything, he’s someone filled with riddles, who only chooses to say meaningful, weighty things. In fact, just last night I went to ask him something I was very curious about, and all he kept saying was ‘Later, when the time comes,’ without giving a proper answer, making me fume. If I had a bit more of a temper, I would have hit him the way Anne Shirley hit Gilbert on the head. That’s how frustrating he can be sometimes… But at that moment, he just kept muttering.
‘That’s… that’s not how it was supposed to be written… Ah, I told Anne Selene that, Cordelia.’
Feeling sorry for him rambling like that, I quickly patted his shoulder.
‘It’s okay, Liam. Just gently suggest she revise it.’
‘But how should it be fixed?’
Liam’s face hardened even more. I understood his feelings, too. Telling someone, especially someone as kind as Liam, to revise something they worked hard on, simply because it’s not interesting, must be a tough task.
‘Was it really that bad?’
Liam looked at me, clinging to his last bit of hope, as if grasping a lifeline. It was hard to nod while looking into those beautiful blue eyes. But what could I do? No matter how handsome Liam is, boring is still boring.
‘Yes, it really is boring.’
Liam looked like a tragic Shakespearean hero. Perhaps he had a special connection with Anne Selene. Given how well he listens to me, I could understand why he’d be so dejected, with his strong sense of empathy.
Seeing his drooping shoulders as he walked away made my heart ache too, but there’s nothing I can do.
Like you said, I can’t lie, and the fact that the manuscript is boring is undeniable. At this point, I began to think that compiling your letters into a book might be an easier task than fixing the manuscript.
Anyway, Liam said he’d convey the feedback, so hopefully, the revisions will get underway soon. But, to make things worse, the illustrator suddenly disappeared this week.
Since this illustrator had gone off the grid before, Marianne, the editor-in-chief, immediately canceled the contract. I think Marianne might be hoping to abandon the whole book at this point. Honestly, I understand how she feels. Prince Archie, to tell you the truth, if this wasn’t your story, I might have let this novel go too.
But now, I absolutely can’t do that.
This is your story.
Perhaps it’s our story, too.
Even as my standing in the office has shrunk to the size of a business card, I boldly declared that I would find a new illustrator. Marianne was so annoyed by me that she told me to bring back the original illustrator.
The illustrations in the original *The Princess and the Knight* are truly, too beautiful.
Just like the meticulous portrayal of me by your scribes, each brushstroke carefully captures Princess Edwina’s red hair. It makes the story about Sir Arthur Gillen instantly falling in love with the princess completely believable.
The delicate lines painting the beautiful landscapes of Winzerton are breathtaking.
The blue eyes of Sir Arthur Gillen are so vivid, and his golden hair gleams as if the sunlight itself has been captured in the brushstrokes.
And his shadow waiting in front of the castle—so gracefully rendered in shades of grey.
I learned from this artwork that emotions can be conveyed through colors alone.
There is no sadder shadow than that one.
I know.
Finding that illustrator would be wonderful.
But it’s impossible.
The original publisher disappeared more than 20 years ago, it was a very small company, and there’s no illustrator’s name credited in the book. I’ve never heard of this illustrator working on any other project either.
I asked Liam once again to ask Anne Selene about the illustrator’s name, but Liam got so flustered he even hiccupped.
‘They’re dead, dead.’
‘D-dead?’
‘Yes, and even when they were alive, they never listened… Anyway, forget about it, Cordelia. They’re dead, dead.’
That was the most firm expression I had ever seen from him.
So what can I do?
All I can do is wander the sea of despair, weeping, while I search through the portfolios of every illustrator in Britain.
My dear prince,
Now you must understand how agonizing my work life is.
Today, I’m running around, giving up my weekend, to gather materials in search of an artist with a similar style to the original illustrator. Tomorrow, I’ll be back at the office, tackling the other books that need to be published by the end of this month.
It’s sad. Though my heart always resides at the corner of the first scriptorium of Lethe Abbey, the reality is that I must work to maintain my three-step-wide room in the heart of London.
Do you know what’s even sadder?
Despite all this hardship, I truly love my work so much that I can’t imagine doing anything else. Even if, by some magical event, I ended up in the Kingdom of Winzerton, I would probably wander around the scribes’ chambers, desperately searching for anything that wasn’t a scroll of history but a storybook.
Yes, ever since I fell in love with books, my life has taken a twisted turn. And a very tight one at that.
So now, my generous friend, your Coco kneels down again to plead.
Please don’t be too angry about the fact that I’ve kept such an important truth from you for so long, if you still think kindly of me at all.
Yes, I know. There’s no longer any reason for us to continue this correspondence.
Now that your reality has caught up with the time in the manuscript I have, our relationship has completely reversed, and I have no more information to offer you. Yes, I’ve become a letter-writing companion of no value.
Archie Albert, you’re not really going to abandon me, are you?
At sunset on July 27.
– Leaning on your kind friendship, Cordelia Grey
P.S. Does the 27th really mark the end of the first month of summer? It feels strangely sad.
* * *
To my sly and cunning Coco,
Yes, the 27th is indeed the end of the first month of summer.
But unlike the heated end of that month, your mischief seems to have no end.
Coco, why are you asking a question with such an obvious answer?
With that clever mind of yours, you know very well that I couldn’t survive a single day without you, so why ask if I would abandon you?
Tonight, I’m thinking about all the ways one could make a person vow eternal loyalty.
Still, as always, the one who loves more loses, so I’ll forgive all your cunning letters. I even feel a pang of guilt, thinking of how busy you’ve been living while I’ve been idling in the monastery.
But, Coco.
Don’t you think it’s a bit much to tease me by talking about a reversal of our relationship and your supposed lack of usefulness, when you’re still holding the thing I’m most curious about?
Yes, *The Princess and the Knight*.
Just how beautiful are the illustrations that you praise them over seven lines?
Even when praising Liam’s (not better than me but still quite handsome) looks, you only used five lines.
Hurry and send me *The Princess and the Knight*.
You must know, this is not just out of my curiosity.
Beautiful art should never be enjoyed alone. I need to show it to the lazy crew in our scriptorium at the monastery to reawaken their discipline.
–Archie Albert, who will, if you ever abandon me, beg as proudly as he does today.
P.S. As long as there are books in this world, you’ll always be useful to me.
* * *
To meticulous Archie Albert,
Indeed, I forgot to send the first edition of *The Princess and the Knight* along with my letter.
But I swear I didn’t do it on purpose just to see you fret.
Feeling bad for making you wait, I’m enclosing the first edition from my treasure chest instead of a new book. It’s a book I’ve had since I was very young, one my mother read to me dozens, hundreds of times. It’s a bit worn from use, with a few torn edges, and it’s full of crooked underlines.
But when you open the book, the first thing you’ll notice won’t be those flaws.
When you see the picture of the princess with fiery red hair standing under the light green tree on the blue field, you’ll instantly understand.
Our editor-in-chief isn’t being stubborn for no reason.
It’s truly a magnificent illustration, isn’t it?
P.S. Yes, I knew you would never abandon me, which is why I asked. But I never imagined that my collection of books would be my greatest asset. I simply thought you wouldn’t be able to abandon me because you’re someone with the sorrow of being unable to say you love me.
Suddenly, I’m worried about something pointless—what if all the books in the world disappeared? Then you’d cut ties with me in an instant, wouldn’t you? You’d toss aside your bookshelf, whether it broke or not, and walk away. And a hundred years from now, if you suddenly remembered me, you’d come to the Thames. By then, I’d be sweeping the riverbed with my long hair, weeping and gathering up the pieces of letters that sank to the bottom in my sorrow.
A sad evening, marking the end of the first month of summer.
– Your supplier of books, Cordelia.
* * *
My dear Coco, who would still be adorable even while crying in longing.
Tell me more.
If I abandoned you, what would you do?
Would you, in a fit of rage, tear up all my letters the way you like, lamenting your loneliness?
Would you spend every night drinking with Juliet, covering the walls with your wobbly handwriting?
Biting your nails, you’ll pace anxiously all night around your three-step-wide room.
Please describe your misery as thoroughly as possible.
Especially the part where you crawl along the ground—describe it in vivid detail.
Please tell me you’ll shed tears for me.
I suppose I’m no longer your innocent friend, now that I find joy in the fact that I am the cause of your sorrow. I must really be Cecile’s younger sibling after all. Look at me, rejoicing at the grief of a beloved friend. I never knew that a person could have such twisted emotions.
P.S. Yes, just as you said, the illustrations in *The Princess and the Knight* are truly beautiful. Now I also understand why you mentioned the drawing you made for our scriptorium.
The delicate brushstrokes used to depict the red hair remind me of Tilbert, our best illustrator at the scriptorium. His style is rounder and blunter, and he only ever draws boring, old manuscripts rather than such beautiful women, but still, there’s a resemblance.
Also, Coco, while you told me to look at the illustrations, I spent a full hour staring at your mischievous doodles instead. Why on earth did you draw horns on the princess’s head? If, by some strange event, books were to disappear, reducing your value to me, I would now use you as a fellow soul to share my wicked thoughts.
* * *
Welcome to my world, my prince.
The reason I put horns on the princess’s head is that I, too, possess a soul as wicked as yours.
Prince, sometimes I wish you would miss me so much that you shed tears of longing.
I even catch myself holding my breath, hesitating in front of the bookshelf, hoping you’d struggle in agony as you await my letters.
Of course, I don’t have as much patience as you do, so my hesitation never lasts more than a minute.
– Your wicked comrade, Cordelia.
P.S. Sharing wickedness seems to bring a certain special joy. I liked your last letter so much, I read it three times.
* * *
To my wicked soul’s companion,
The darkness has come, as if to conceal our sins.
Which means it’s the perfect time for thievery.
I kept thinking of Tilbert’s drawings as I looked at the illustrations in *The Princess and the Knight*, so I just came back from visiting the book storage section of the scriptorium. That place is entirely separate from the library, where we keep the books created by our scribes.
These foolish scribes, they even make an extra copy of the commissioned books and store them here. Yes, my book-crazed friend, this is where you’ll likely spend most of your time if you ever come to this world. Even if you’re not particularly fond of books, this place is like paradise to many. Flynn spends most of her day here.
But tonight, when the monks, Florian, and Noel are all asleep, there’s no one but me who would dare enter this place. No one but me would think of stealing a book, day or night.
Cordelia, don’t scold me for my sticky fingers, saying, ‘How many have you stolen already?’ That was never my intention. I only went to look at Tilbert’s old drawings because I felt a little lonely while you were reading my letter three times.
But who would’ve thought I’d find something like this?
Unlike you, I’m meticulous and thorough, so I haven’t forgotten to enclose the book.
As soon as you open it, the title will catch your eye. It’s from the brilliant Bedder.
*The Tale of Sir Arthur Gillen*
The moment you see this title, you’ll forgive my bad habit of borrowing things without permission.
My virtuous friend, if you still believe it’s wrong to take something without asking, please turn one more page.
There, you’ll find an illustration, long and ornate, completely different from today’s trends. And beneath it, you’ll see a small ‘t’ that Tilbert drew to leave his mark, out of pride.
But before you even laugh at that tiny letter, you’ll see it.
You’ll see Sir Arthur Gillen, drawn by our very own Tilbert, with his shattered blue eyes, as bright as if the sunlight had been mixed into his golden hair.
Yes, Cordelia.
I’ve done what you said was impossible.
The illustrations in *The Princess and the Knight* were drawn by our Tilbert.
I’ll return your eight lines of praise to him tomorrow morning.
In the meantime, I hope you close the bookshelf and lie down, reading the book I’ve given you until you drift off to sleep.
In your dreams, I’ll invite you to my world, to the grand library, where only a book lover like you would find joy.
Goodnight, Coco.
* * *
Archie Albert, are you insane?
You expect me to lie down with a book like that and just peacefully fall asleep?
No, right now you’re probably grinning, eagerly waiting for my reply.
Are you saying Tilbert is the illustrator of *The Princess and the Knight*?!
Then what about Anne Selene, the author?
Is it possible that he *is* Anne Selene?
How exactly did the illustrations get passed along? Through the bookshelf?
Or is there some other method involved?
You kept this hidden and only wrote, ‘Hello, this is Tilbert’ to me the last time?
Tilbert the illustrator is far more cunning than I am, more wicked than you, and more vicious than Cecile!
And what’s with this book?
You said it was *The Tale of Sir Arthur Gillen*, but it’s not about Princess Edwina at all—it’s the founding myth of Winzerton! Arthur Gillen only appears as a brave knight, and there’s no trace of his love story anywhere.
Is there someone in Winzerton who lives forever?
Did Sir Arthur Gillen help establish Winzerton and live long enough to eventually meet Princess Edwina?
Do people in Winzerton live for 100 or 200 years or something?
Or is ‘Arthur Gillen’ just an incredibly common name in Winzerton?
Please write back quickly, my friend.
In the early hours of July 28th, moving into the 29th,
– Your sleepless friend, Coco.
* * *
To my darling bundle of question marks, Coco,
It brings me great joy to be able to tease you once again.
And it also makes me happy to have proven my usefulness after so long.
However, tonight, I’m far too tired.
I’ll respond to you when Tilbert wakes up tomorrow morning.
Please don’t feel too lonely—sleep well, my friend.
– With love, Archie Albert.
* * *
No, my prince,
I’m not feeling lonely—I can’t sleep, I’m telling you!
Honestly, your constancy is truly your greatest virtue!
– Your not-at-all-lonely friend, Cordelia Grey.
———= Author’s Note ———=
To my dear readers,
I loved your comments so much that I read them three times.
…But that’s not the reason for the delay.
I’m simply sorry for being late.
There isn’t much left until the conclusion, but there are still a couple of mountains to cross. I’ll work diligently, bringing you a new chapter every day instead of burning myself out with unnecessary writing marathons. Even if this chapter ended up being as boring as Anne Selene’s manuscript… please use me as fuel for the midnight fire. What I mean is—let’s meet again tomorrow.
P.S. 1: Now, I’m off to boast about the updated cover and the fan art that you, my readers, sent. Come take a look in a few minutes.
P.S. 2: Thank you for all the subscriptions, recommendations, and comments. Although I don’t have the time to respond to each comment individually due to my writing schedule, please know that I am deeply considering and reflecting on all of your feedback and critiques. I hope you don’t feel like Coco’s father, sending letters without receiving replies.
P.S. 3: However, I couldn’t resist addressing this. In the last chapter, someone commented that they could relate because they’d had the same experience. By any chance… are you Coco?
<– Just a small thing, but hopefully helpful –>
Leave a Reply