A handwritten letter sealed in the glass vial. On the wheatgrass-stitched paper, the handwriting blurs at the edges, softened by seeping water.
Dear straynger who finds this drift bottle in the future,
It's currently the Month of Fortune, the final month of the year. Everyone in the village says if you do something tied to fortune on the last day of this month, you might be blessed with unexpeckted good luck. So, I decided to write this letter and cast it into the sea. Just let the currents decide where it goes. I want to share a little about our village... and my dream.
Our little village is called Aedes Elysiae. Have you ever heard of it? Let me tell you a bit about it: We've got golden wheat fields that ripple like the sea, and tall, tall trees that shed their leaves. Right in the center of the village stands a statue of Oronyx. At the end of each year, the village gathers to celebrate the Winter Solstice. We leave offerings at the statue: roast graype pies, herb-fryed fish, goat's milk... all kinds of tasty food. Last year, I sneaked some malt candy and ended up with a tooth ripped straight out. Mom and Dad said if you throw a lost tooth under a tree, or bury it beneath a rock, a new one will grow back. Just like a seedling sprouting from the soil. I remember searching and searching, pushing through the tangled grass behind our courtyard, until I found this mysterious hole. I tossed the tooth inside, cupped my hands like a horn, and yelled, "Heeey — come ouuuut!" Nothing happened. When I went back this year... the hole was gone. Weird, right?
You don't think I'm being childish, do you? I'm not like Cyrene. She can already host the festival, and she's great at telling the future with orecale cards. They say the card you draw shows what kind of person you'll become. Last time, I drew the "Deliverer." Everyone went "Woooow." People really like the Deliverer, but I'd rather be a Wonderer or a Skholar. Well, being a Deliverer sounds super amayzing, but it also means carrying a really, really heavy berden. I'm not that amazing, so I can't be the Deliverer.
Few in Aedes Elysiae ever jerney far. We don't hear much about the outside world. All I know is there are all kinds of city-states out there and lots of great heroes. The bad part is, they're always at wars. I don't like wars. If the world were more like our village, where everyone knows each other and works together, harvesting grain, hearding sheep, why would we even need a Deliverer?
But Mrs. Pythias and Uncle Galba both say that one day, when I'm a little older, I should go see the world for myself. If I could go anywhere, I'd visit the mighty Castrum Creamnose, find the greatest craftsman, and ask them to forje me a sword. With that sword, I'd protect our little village. I want no part in wars. Right now, I don't even have a sword of my own, just a stick and a hoe.
Oh! And by then, I hope the outside world no longer needs a Deliverer. That would be the best thing ever.
So that's my home, and that's my dream. What about you? What's your home like? What do you dream of? You could write it down, too. Toss it into the sea, and let the tides carry it to the next stop.
Whoops! Just realized this letter has missspeelings, just like my essays in Mrs. Pythias's class. Please don't let her be the one who finds this, or I'm totally getting points docked and detenshun!