All her life, Calypso Nightingale has always lived in the shadows of her four older sisters. She stayed in the sidelines watching as they find their love matches, all of whom during their first seasons. With her sisters' perfect records, pressure ha...
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Lady Whistledown's daily critique has arrived earlier than expected on our front porch. It was the source of entertainment of our townsmen ever since the courting season has begun. Many are even figuring out the writer's real identity. Even I was curious to know who she was.
Among her fans was Georgia. Aside from waiting for my potential suitors in our living room, she sips coffee as she excitedly waits for the daily Whistledown parchment to arrive.
Her enthusiasm was in fact showing the instant I walked down our staircase and I saw her craned neck looking out for the mailman outside. "Why are you up so early?"
She immediately looked at my direction and furrowed her brows at me. "Why are you up so early?"
I smiled at her, my eyes still adjusting from the morning light. "You first."
Before I could even get an answer from her, the doorbell rang and she swiftly ran towards the door. Upon opening our home, she politely greeted the mailman. "A good day to you, sir!"
"Calypso Nightingale?" He asked, while holding a letter.
"Oh, I'm her sister," I overheard Georgia. I didn't want to intervene with the way I looked. My hair still all over the place, and slight traces of drool on my face.
I watched as the mailman gave the letter to her, and her eyes were still yearning to lay eyes on her new obsession.
"Anything else?" asked Georgia.
The mailman blankly stared at her for a minute, and suddenly, something sparked up a reaction from him. "Oh yeah, Lady Whistledown's updates."
I watched as Georgia's eyes lit up, while reaching out for the news. The instant she got hold of it, she immediately bid goodbye to the mailman and closed our doors shut. Quickly, she ran towards the couch and laid on it. Her eyes moved quickly while scanning the pages.
"What does it say?" I asked curiously.
She didn't respond, while her eyes moved quickly from left to right. Clearly, she was focused on the writings of the lady.
"Georgia," I said.
"Wait, sister."
"Read it aloud at least," I responded. Even I can't deny that that Lady Whistledown was gifted in writing. Her words and critique flowed smoothly like it was weaved to perfection.
