12th July, 1892

Alcyone,

I am alive, though I do not know for how long—it has only been a day, and already this lockdown is oppressive! The sun is shining and the wind is little more than a breeze: the perfect day for flying in the Hollow. And yet, Papa insists that I cannot even venture into the garden for sake of my safety! I know, rationally, that he is right, of course, but I have never been good at having to stay put. Greta is busy fussing over her mother which keeps her out of my hair, at least.

Please, tell me stories of the outside world. It has been a hundred years since I have spoken to a living soul without the surname "Bell" or "Gillenwater"!