Margot's handwriting is nonexistent (as I said, she doesn't even know how to write), as is her stationery, and she doesn't doodle in the margins because she has no paper on which to doodle. Even if she did have paper, she wouldn't waste it in doodling, though. I'm not sure what she'd do with it. Maybe she'd give it to Philippe, just as she wishes she could give this letter, but of course there's no way to do that.
Are you still alive?
Are you coming to find us?
If I say nothing else here, I must say that at least. Fina and I are safe--
The people who found us are good, I think. They are gentle and kind, and one young woman especially has become attached to Fina. They have told us we may stay with them, but I do not know what to do, nor indeed what to think of them. I do not know who they are, exactly-- their manner of living is like the gypsies that came to the manor last year, but these people do not steal as the gypsies did. They make their living, so far as I can see, as tinkers, traveling from village to village with no fixed destination.
All this is not really so strange, I suppose, but the oddest of it all is their religion. I'd never met a real live heretic before, and I always imagined them to be great brute beasts with horns, but these travelers look just like you and me. Yet their beliefs--though neither pagan nor occult--are in direct disobedience to the holy Church, and I fear that Fina and I may be tainted if we stay with them. Of course we do not listen to their heresies, and we try our best to shut our ears when they recite their prayers around the fire each night. But might we, too, be condemned (as they will surely be) from association with them? Why am I even asking you? You are the one constantly searching for answers. You are the one who went on a pilgrimage.
I do not know what to think. All I know is that we must get away.
I know you'll come for us, Philippe-- you wouldn't abandon your sisters, would you, if you could possibly avoid it? Please still be alive