Salamanca, April 1920
The library annex was silent this time of night. There were no sounds of pages turning, no soft footsteps nor gentle coughing from other patrons. Here were books, old and rare, volumes forbidden by the church, hidden away from public viewing. At the busiest of times, access to the annex was restricted. Rose found it an ideal environment to complete her private correspondence.
She settled herself at a small desk against the wall. For illumination, she lit three pillar candles. No lamp for her this evening. Rose was, as she would put it, in a nostalgic mood.
She was a tall woman, with classic features. Her hair was dark and curly, thanks to an Italian grandmother. Her eyes were a shade of aquamarine, unsettling when enraged, bewitching in times of passion. She kept them concealed behind a pair of wire frame spectacles.
With long, slender fingers, she took up her pen.
Tonight, she would write a letter to a man. She spent the past few days composing her thoughts, debating how she might reach out to him. Her motivation she fully intended to remain private. However, when necessary, there were layers of truth she was prepared to reveal - in the fullness of time and certainly not in writing. For now, she decided brevity was the correct course of action. After all, the best kept secrets are those no one knows exist.
She selected a sheet of heavy cream paper and with a bold black ink, she began:
Professor Serendipity,
Sir - I am currently studying at a university on the Iberian Peninsula researching aspects of Central and Eastern European folklore with particular connection to members of the aristocracy. Would you be willing to meet privately to discuss this topic? I shall be traveling to Berlin next month should you be in Europe.
Yours Respectfully,
Rose Arcana