The box remained empty for several days.
previously on ‘wtf were we doing oh yeah’
A couple of fire lilies appear on your doorstep, with a note: ‘happy spring! with love’
Galahad picked up and looked at the lilies in his hands. He touched one of the petals and then noticed the note. He glanced at it, and smiled. “I do love spring … ” He said but frowned slightly at the lack of a signature. He looked around, but no one seemed to be watching. “Interesting … ” He mumbled curious as to who could have left them here. He sat down and just gazed at the lilies. He took one and spun watching as it seemed to make different designs.
a bouquet with an astonishing number of different fruit tree blossoms appears — cherry, apple, plum, pear, lemon, peach, and orange. attached to the honeysuckle looping it all together is a note which says, ‘happy beltaine with love’
Galahad picked up the bouquet with a bright smile. “This is the second time I’ve gotten flowers. Thank you.” He said to no one in particular. He had forgotten that today was beltaine.
A little crystal bowl with three lotuses floating in it appears on your windowsill. Underneath the bowl is a note saying only, ‘with love’
Galahad did love the flowers that always seemed to appear in front of or around his house. He really didn’t know who kept doing this, but he wasn’t complaining. The flowers definitely made his home look much more comfortable since he never went out to buy flowers himself.
A handful of camellias appears on your windowsill, floating in a shallow ceramic bowl. Beneath the bowl is a note. In elegant script, it reads, ‘may friendship and love keep you warm in this season of waning days’
Galahad raised an eyebrow at the gift that appeared. He curiously wondered who kept dropping them off as they never gave any indication. However, he was not going to complain. They were a wonderful addition to his home.
A double handful of maple leaves, in brilliant fall colours, appears on your windowsill, stems wired to a branch. Tied to the branch is a note that reads, in elegant script, ‘autumn’s bounty for you, with love’.
Galahad smiled brightly. He still didn’t know who was leaving him these beautiful decorations, but he didn’t care. They were lovely and they made his home feel more like a … well … home. He looked down at the note as he played with it between his fingers. He simply wished to know who it was so that he could repay the favor of these wonderful gifts.
A round wooden box, barely more than two inches in diameter, appears on your windowsill. The top is inset with a slice of amazonite. The note inside, in the elegant handwriting you’ve seen before, reads: ‘If you wish to speak to me, leave your words here.’ A vine of honeysuckle curls round it.
He picked up a writing utensil and flipped over the note. ‘Hello person.’ He wrote down. ‘I wish I knew who you were. Could you tell me a little about yourself? I really enjoy your gifts. – Galahad’
It’s a few days before a reply appears in the box. ‘I’m not permitted to tell you who I am. You’re very welcome, though. Sometimes I see you but you’ve never noticed me.’
Galahad pursed his lips. He found something else to write with. ‘You’ve seen me … but I’ve never noticed you … ’ He began but paused in thought. ‘But maybe I remember you. What do you look like?’ He tried again.
Again there’s a wait; the answer appears the next day. ‘I don’t think you would remember me. If I tell you what I look like, you will know who I am and I’ll be punished.’
Again Galahad read the note and then he wrote his reply. ‘Why would you punished if I knew you? Who would punish you?’
‘I can’t say. Even this much is supposed to be a punishment for me — to see but not be able to touch, speak but not say anything. Please don’t ask me.’ The last line is less elegant, almost scrawled.
Galahad stared at the note for a second before writing: maybe I could help if you just told me who you are …
The next note doesn’t appear for days. When it does, the writing is shaky, inexplicable ink spots and other marks on the page. ‘I cannot tell you. You may not help me. There is no help. Ask anything but that.’
Galahad wanted to pursue the matter further but let it slide. The shaky writing was making him nervous. ‘Do you live in Camelot?’ He wrote down. Then added: ‘What do you enjoy doing?’
‘I live near to Camelot, outside the walls.’ This time the handwriting was as perfect as the first time. ‘I spend my time studying medicine and sewing.’
‘Then you must love nature as I do.’ He wrote down since he loved living outside the walls because the trees made him smile. ‘Medicine and sewing are both important. I’m not good at anything much except being kind to people.’ He wrote with a small smile.
‘I don’t get to spend much time out of doors but I do love my daily walk. I’m sure I remember you being very skilled as a knight. Sometimes I stop and watch you practice.’
Galahad smiled slightly at the note. He didn’t think he was that great at being a knight. Just average – if that. Being forced to kill others at times seemed to take a greater role on him than it did his fellow knights, but he wasn’t going to write that into his words. ‘Thank you, that means a lot.’ He wrote. ‘Do you get to watch our practices often?’
‘Not as often as I’d like. You’re such a gentle knight, I like to watch. I don’t always get to choose where I walk every day.’
Galahad stared at the paper in his hands. He wanted nothing more than to befriend this person at least for the sake of them having someone to talk to. Their situation seemed so dark and oppressive, but he couldn’t do much to change that unless this person made themselves known to him. ‘I’m glad you get to watch.’ He wrote since it seemed to make the person happy. ‘If you are not always free to do what you wish, how do you get these gifts and notes to me?’
‘I told you. It is a punishment.’ There’s an odd blotch of ink there, before the writer goes on. ‘I am allowed a little contact, lest I go mad. I hope that you liked them? I wished to send things to brighten your days.’
‘I see … ‘ Galahad wrote. ‘They do make my days better. How do you decide what to put in each present?’ He figured it best to avoid questions about the punishment.
‘I try to choose things that speak to the season at the time, things that are available. Sometimes it’s things that make me think of’. The note ends there, abruptly.
Seasons made sense, he though nodding slightly. ‘What do they make you think of?’ He tried again curious to know the answer.
‘you’. The writing was tiny, as if written in secret. ‘Sometimes I see beautiful things from my tower and I want to share them.’
Galahad stared at the writing and blushed, but smiled nonetheless. ‘I don’t think I deserve to be associated with such beautiful things, but thank you!’ He wrote down honestly. ‘What else can you see from your tower? Anything interesting?’
‘There is a wide forest all round, and the walls of Camelot in the near distance. From the other window I can see a lake. It glitters in the sun and dimples in the rain.’
‘It sounds like a beautiful view. I wish I could see it as well. At least you have something positive even though you live in a tower.’ He wrote trying to think of positive things. He knew if he asked about the tower, he probably wouldn’t get an answer.
‘There are so many positive things! I am allowed to watch you practise, and walk a little in the streets of Camelot, to make beautiful things; the sun rises every day, and you are smiling.’
Galahad smiled. ‘Well…’ He wrote. ‘I doubt you’d agree to this, but if you are allowed to walk the streets of Camelot, maybe we could walk together sometime.’
‘If you are able to find me while I am there it would be lovely to walk with you.’
‘However,’ he wrote, ‘how would I know it was you?’