Plateau

Dear Mother and Father,

While I've not seen the outside of the tavern except for the roof in a few weeks, I really am quite comfortable here. Even though my peculiar dreams leave me a wee bit nervous as to what may be "out there", I know cognitively that I am very safe here and can see that all around me. In fact, the first thing I see when I wake up is a rack of spears through the open door of the bedchamber. If a monster like in my dreams were to attack, I would be well equipped to defend myself. This is all to say nothing of Mama Miss Dreamscape, whom I suspect would enjoy doing to any hostile creatures what Porridge would do to squirrels. (In case you're wondering, I have yet to seriously upset her that I know of. I wonder how long I can keep this going. I give her and anything that seems important to her, e.g. her hats, as much space as possible, although I've seen little hints and flickers that she knows where I am in the building at all times: another thing that reminds me of Porridge. I'm still tiptoeing along that beautiful glass shelf. I haven't slipped and broken anything yet. I wonder how much more time there is.) Even when she is out guarding the city, all the military weapons comfort me. Sometimes I go on the roof and practice swishing them about just in case I ever need to defend myself, which I know is highly unlikely in a world full of responsible adults. In fact, it is probably downright redundant in light of what Mr. Baron said about the state of Steamland medical science. I bet I could jump right off the side of this roof here and go sploopht on the ground and all the madboys and madgirls would come and fix me up good as new. They would probably be angry at me, though, so I'll do no such thing. In fact, sometimes I wonder about the time I fell out the ground-story window. I still haven't been punished for that yet. Do you think they've already forgotten about it?
I still think about you constantly and love you very much, although the glass shelf does preoccupy me at times.

Love,
Shaqad

Madgirl in the flesh

Dear Mother,

You know the girl with whom Mr. Baron danced at her birthday last week, whose name turned out to be Clarabella Corryong? Last night I met her in person. The contrast between her and me was almost physically painful to observe. There is nothing wrong with her. She is clever and friendly and well-dressed and tidy and pretty. She is even a Spark, complete with her own minions. I cannot help but think that she must have the happiest parents in the world. Why does God make flawless people like her and then make people like me? I suppose only the greatest saints and philosophers know. I already sort of miss the contented state in which I didn't know anything about her. But that's no way to look at life, is it? I suppose the best thing to do is spend time around her and try to become more like her. Maybe I should give her my sewing book as a peace offering. I'm sure she could get more out of it than I can. Perhaps when we are both older, keeping close to her will grant me access to more high-caliber suitors.
I learned about other people, too. For example, Miss Captain Nacht is a captain of Mr. Baron's swordpeople. All this time I've been calling her simply "Miss Nacht". I hope she's not been offended.
I also learned through casual conversation that Miss Dreamscape is older even than Mr. Captain: She is in her six hundreds. Suddenly I'm even more nervous in her presence than before, knowing that I may very well be remembered centuries from now (and not just as a disembodied name connected to wondrous accomplishments). Unless I am as boring to her as a snail on a fencepost, she will hold memories of the real me, the one who makes mistakes all the time and doesn't know how to talk to her friends and hits the target throwing thing when she means to touch the dancing machine and trips over her own feet. As much as I want to finish the unfinished parts of your lives for you, as your daughter and the heir of your dreams, I don't think I personally want to be remembered as the real, fallible bundle of errors I was.
I indirectly tried to learn a bit about the condition of Mr. Paine, who collapsed last week. I was informed that he is still alive but somehow changed. I do hope he isn't ill! I should have stayed up and helped nurse him to health! Not that I would have had any inkling what to do without careful instructions, but still, I shouldn't have just left the scene like that.
Lastly, I met a shapeshifting lady personally invited by Miss Dreamscape. She had a different last name, but when she took on a humanlike form, I could see a family resemblance between the two. Before that, she was a partly human-shaped dragon. I've never met a dragon-type being before. Although she told me not to be afraid because she didn't like the taste of humans, she really didn't need to. No matter what her native culture has forced her to do in the past, Miss Dreamscape had trusted her enough to bring her in, and that was all I needed. Assurances were redundant. Though I'm still no good at interaction, it's always nice to make the acquaintance of decent people.

Love,
Shaqad

Clara's birthday

Dear Mother and Father,

Some interesting things happened last night, although I didn't actually go downstairs like I ought to have. I fell asleep in the middle of the evening, and by the time I awoke, quite a few people had already gathered downstairs. I heard Mr. Baron's voice and many others, including some I'm sure I've never heard before. It was apparently the birthday of a girl not too far from my age named Clara Corryong. (There was another voice belonging to someone young, but only one birthday.) She must have been very important, because Mr. Baron invited her to dance with him. (Mother, I promise you that if this Corryong girl did anything to earn her status, I will find out what it was and do it myself.) I would have been mortified to stride downstairs in the middle of all that as if I owned the place, so I tried my very best to stay quiet. (I had my things all over the floor, though, so it wasn't easy.)
I overheard various things of various importance from upstairs. In a discussion about getting through transport checkpoints, Miss Dreamscape implied that the Jaegerpeople do indeed know that they look a bit intimidating to others. I hadn't known that, and I hope I've never offended any of them by being inappropriately intimidated! Also, Mr. Baron said that Mrs. Lowey wasn't feeling well. I hope it's nothing serious! The Sparkpeople know what to do when someone isn't feeling well, don't they? Finally, through many different indirect remarks, I gathered that one of the people downstairs was a doll of some kind. I do wish I could have seen her!
The most memorable and alarming thing happened after the party itself, when Miss Corryong and Mr. Baron were already gone. A friend of Miss Dreamscape's, a Mr. Paine, had wandered in late and got a little bit too adventurous with the beverages. It is sensible that one ought to exercise more caution than normal when a bar contains ingredients meant for multiple species, but I guess that would be easy to forget in some social settings. The end result was that he got so sick that he collapsed and the Jaegerladies were going to take him upstairs for emergency medical treatment! I got my things put away and went back to bed before I had a chance to get in their way, and in the morning he wasn't anywhere around. I hope that's a good sign and that he wasn't carted off to the morgue! Miss Dreamscape doesn't appear to be in mourning for her friend, so I must hope for the best.
I don't know that anyone noticed me last night, or at least I don't think they noticed with certainty. Ms. Steamweaver asked if Miss Dreamscape had company at one point when I shuffled a bit too loudly, but there was no follow-up that I could hear. Of course, I've gotten the impression that Miss Dreamscape naturally knows where I am most of the time, just as Porridge did with her kitty senses, so I wouldn't rule out my having drawn more notice than the audible conversation betrayed.
I hope I haven't irritated anyone yet with my presence or lack of presence or anything in between!
Love,
Shaqad

A humble prayer

Dear Mother and Father,

I've been praying to God lately. Please don't be angry at me for going behind your backs. Let me explain: Do you remember that dream I described earlier where the Queen of Hearts called a monster to tear off my head? I have had many more like it. They are delightfully mundane compared to what I used to dream about, but they have been gradually escalating to become more and more horrific. The thing that alarms me, I suppose, is that the aether seems to resonate with them, as if some part of them existed somewhere outside my mind. It makes me most shamefully paranoid. I have taken to checking dark corners whenever I move to a different room. It is an embarrassing condition, but when I say a prayer before and after my dreams, they are milder and I feel better throughout the day.
Now I see what my problem is: I have been allowing myself to be led around by my feelings like a pitiful little marionette. I am a creature of flesh, cast adrift by the tempest of my frivolous passions. Forgive me, Mother and Father. It will not happen again.
The unauthorized prayers end today.

Love,
Your Shaqad

Little tedious apprehensions

Dear Mother and Father,

Things are going surprisingly well. I don't know how that can be. I have been trying to stuff the raccoon I brought home back to the tavern, and yesterday I attempted to use the formaldehyde. I spilled a few drops on the floor and could not clean them out no matter how hard I tried. I was so sure Miss Dreamscape was going to kill me, but she didn't speak a word about it. Does this mean she'll be more upset about it later for not letting her know? I know I should get out of here while I'm still physically able to, but some strange emotional pull is keeping me from doing so. It isn't even that my dreams in Steelhead are so fanciful as to be a great relief from the more realistic nightmares. It isn't even one hundred percent related to her, though it has quite an impact on anything that is related to her. The thing is, the Steamlands people like me, or in any case act as if they do. I want to follow them around pretending everything is okay until I can't pretend anymore. It's so irrational, yet I'm so weak I can't help myself. Surely there isn't much more time before all this pretending I deserve their courtesy takes its toll. What happens then? Thus, I flee from thoughts of this future that so frightens me. Now if I could start deserving their courtesy, that, I suppose, would solve everything. If only, if only!

With love,
Shaqad

Your object 'Shaqad' has been returned to your inventory

My Dearest and Most Beloved Mother and Father,

You may want an explanation for the photograph circulating in various publications in which I can be seen in the same room as various Persons of Importance. I wrote you a letter in which I discussed it, but it was a truly awful letter not written in my right mind, so I had to rip it up and bury it in the middle of the forest.
If you read my letters in chronological order, you can see what led up to that photograph or set of photographs. I happened to stumble into a place where Important People were, and although I have met most of them them before, I am really not very close to them. I tried to operate their knowing-how-to-dance machine, but it was not working properly for me. I am seen wearing ragged clothes because I have yet to find a job and there is little to work with but scraps of the dress I left home in and rags from the rubbish bins. I do my best, I really do, although you may not believe me. My entire social life is a work in progress.
I returned from fetching a raccoon skin (explained in previous letters) to Miss Dreamscape's tavern where I'm allowed to stay, all with barely enough time to make it to a bi-weekly party. Mama Miss Dreamscape herself was not there. She is a soldier who protects the European government, so she has reason to be away at times. But very few people were present for Miss Blackheart's music tonight at all. I sent myself to bed when it seemed like an appropriate time. I feel very alone and miss you so much it hurts. I can see now why a stuffed raccoon was recommended. It's probably a good thing not to see too much of people outside the family because, by definition, they can never tolerate me as well as you do. All the same, I feel unhappy to be more alone than before. May Heaven help me with my "feelings", and may I find out how to get back to Massachusetts before all three of us die of a broken heart.

Love eternal and unrelenting,
Your Shaqad

A stuffed raccoon

Dear Mother and Father,

I regret to say that I have missed my current social obligation. I am presently in the middle of an unknown forest on the trail of a wild super-bird that stole the raccoon I had planned to stuff. I am almost certain that the raccoon is rightfully mine, as it was unattended when I first discovered it. (On the other hand, if that sort of bird is mainly a scavenger, I'm not going to starve it, am I? I do hope I'm not being unreasonable!)
In case you are unsure why I would want to stuff a raccoon, Miss Dreamscape mentioned that the "military" sort of lodgings above her tavern would perhaps be more pleasant to sleep in with a stuffed raccoon. So I went out to get one, even though the aether around these parts feels...slimy, somehow.
Although I am not familiar with this particular forest, please be assured that I will return to civilization safely. At least I have a nearby place to return to! It isn't a particularly frightening forest, either. It seems to be very large, but a forest is a forest and it's hard to get lost in a place where no two locations look identical. (In that way it's almost the exact opposite of a city.) There are plenty of flowers to eat. Part of me wishes we had stayed in Dunwich a little bit longer so that I would remember more about forests, but I know your judgment was sound, as it always is.
Some wicked little part of me also wishes that I still thought well of insects, and did not realize that they carry disease which can ruin my chances of marrying well. Ignorance is bliss--until, of course, its consequences play out. Don't mourn for my mental state; you really did teach me in this area.
I hope the wild bird is not too angry with me when I catch up with it! I haven't quite plotted out what I shall do in order to reclaim my raccoon.
I wonder if Miss Dreamscape or anyone else knows I've gone. It seems unlikely. (Of course you two have obviously noticed my absence many months ago! Forgive me for that.)

Love,
Shaqad Ashbourne