Read Online Letters to Zell by Camille Griep - Free Book Online

set me up with a nice fluffy puppy or a luxuriant kitten or a parrot that I can talk to or maybe a grand, colorful fish in a grand, colorful bowl. I haven’t decided.
    I’ll let you know how it goes.
    Love,
    Rory

From the Desk of Cecilia Cinder Charming
    Crystal Palace
    North Road, Grimmland
    Dear Zell,
    Edmund returned from his latest diplomatic summit in Wonderland three days ago. Negotiations on the Bunny Byway unraveled after the Queen of Hearts beheaded several contractors. As you might suspect, we’re both glad he’s back. He slept for the entirety of his first day home, celebrated his homecoming for the duration of the second, and this morning we finished catching up and began discussing the future.
    He wanted to know what I thought of the design modifications he’d drawn for the Byway and what I’d been doing while he was away. He asked if Lucinda had refrained from meddling, and if Darling and Sweetie had found hobbies yet. (He finds their moping understandable, yet irritating.) He also told me that his parents would return from their Sea of Dreams cruise in time for Bianca’s wedding, so he wanted to start work on the closest spare room to ours for a nursery.
    I felt ill. The test date flashed in my mind, but how could I bring up the classes when we were destined to rehash a very old argument about the nursery? “Fine. I guess I’ll ask Rumple’s to send over some samples.”
    “What’s wrong?” he asked.
    “Nothing,” I lied. I tried to look cheerful, but I must have failed. “Maybe I’m just not excited about yet more gold-striped fabric. Grimm forbid they make anything in silver.”
    “Let’s use the Brave Little Tailor instead. Goldi will find us some nice, boring colors to use.”
    “Great. I can’t wait.”
    He put his arm around my shoulder. “We don’t have to have a baby right now, CeCi, we just need to look like we could.”
    “I know.” But I was lying again. I don’t understand. Why can’t we just tell the king and queen that we may never be ready to have a child?
    “Are you sure there’s nothing else?” he asked. “You seem so distracted.”
    Edmund says that sometimes you have to fudge the truth in order to avoid hurting people. That’s what we’re doing to his parents. I suppose that’s what I’m doing by not telling him about the classes. I just have to find the right time, and that time is not now.
    You told me a long time ago that you were loved too much when you grew up in the tower—kept too precious. And I get that. But after my mother died, I was so lonely. Every day I wished that something or someone would come and take me away from it all. I dreamed of being somewhere, someplace else—maybe even like Rory, asleep, safe, full, warm, loved. But most of all, I dreamed of being wanted.
    I swore back then that I’d never cause a child to depend on love that I couldn’t guarantee. Life so often deals indelible losses through no fault of our own. I didn’t want to let a kid down or disappoint them or fail them, or leave them frightened and hopeless.
    When I see children like we did at the Magic Castle, I remember all the things I felt at that age—all that raw, directionless emotion—and it’s terrifying. I recognize the resentment and confusion and all the boundless hoping and dreaming, when really, the future is nothing but a sparkling, pre-laid path to be painstakingly minded.
    I can’t be the one to tell a child that her world hinges upon the imagination of Humans and that we barely influence our own destinies. And furthermore, restrict consumption of ice cream and cupcakes. I don’t know how you do it, Zell. Motherhood seems insurmountable.
    I’m fortunate that Edmund doesn’t want to be a parent, either. He doesn’t want to dictate anyone’s life, forcing costume galas and riding lessons and hunting rifles onto hapless young things. But soon we’ll have to answer our subjects’ questions. If we don’t answer them honestly, won’t we borrow