The One Hundredth and Tenth Reply - Six Months Prior

Dearest Sonia, who I should like to trust more than myself; who I never wish to bring disappointment; who I hope will never cease to understand me better than I understand myself; who I admire greatly,

I find that I am afraid. I tell you this not to impart any sort of empathetic suffering upon you, nor to bring about urgent concern for my well being; but rather so that I might take refuge in the citadel which is your great and earnest friendship, much in the same way in which a child might beknight a lantern to hold back the imagined monsters of the post-midnight witching hours. 

I have allowed myself to become unstitched as though a gown under alteration with a tailor; have allowed myself to be brought to the precipice of myself and bade to leap into the unknown cavern which holds the mysteries of the heart. I have, in a rather unsuitable way, allowed my form and my spirit to do that which I swore to it I would never force it to suffer again - to do that which I consider beyond incredulity, beyond allowance, beyond deserving. 

You see, I have been rather quiet in my letters to you regarding the state of affairs in my home since the departure of one Miss Pennywise, my first collar. I would be remiss to say that your suggestion of me obtaining extra service in the home was not ultimately beneficial. However, I have been quiet because I have not known how to speak to you of the fact that I have replaced Miss Pennywise with a new collar. 

This is not the great tribulation of which I speak to you of - not directly, at any rate. The decision to take on a second collar to replace the first was a much easier decision. 

No, my grand sin which I will relate to you now is far less surmountable. It is one in which I hope you can discover within yourself the capacity not to judge me for. For you see, in the least expected way possible, and fervently in spite of herself, Cordelia Jones has fallen in love. 

Allow me to speak to you now of Annette Baker.