Dearest Abigail! I am touched and delighted by your kind word. I suppose… wishes… they can come true… Suddenly my life is full of magic and I have you to thank, sweet one.

The Green Wizard and I were practicing summoning spells and this funny little shrivelled ear appeared! He was terribly complementary of me and said it grants wishes! Sounds like hooey dooey to me!

But perhaps… there is no harm…

*I wish for Abigail to fall for me as I have for her.*

I feel silly!

The Blue Wizard is a decent chap. We share a love for the whippoorwill! He was awfully enchanted (ha!) by my quill!

The Green Wizard is a spirited fellow! I must admit, I am partial to impressing him as the dear papa of my beloved Abigail. She is bewitching, bewildering… I fear I am not wooing her!

She must have been understandably too stunned by my rakishness to speak, so her charming father and I shared a brief conversation, and I asked for his permission to correspond with her. Do I write to her, Diary? Duty says no, but the heart, oh the heart…

It was through the flames on the bridge that I saw her, Diary – the fire dancing in her eyes, illuminating their bewitching hue. Her precious mouth agape at the spectacle before her, or perhaps, I must not even wish it… at the sight of me?

Allegedly, Dank Forest ale was “the best they could get,” and their “star archer” was a teen girl who had only taken three lessons from her uncle! She shot the ceremonial flaming arrow into the side of the Wandybruck Bridge! Another round of repairs is needed, but we did it once, we can do it again!

Let us host the village in this dazzling spectacle say, the day after tomorrow? I will begin ornamenting Adelina’s mane in the morn!

Oh my sweet boys, this feat calls for a fête! @julianfairweather.bsky.social please work with Perclancy to organize a Royal Blessing of the Fleet (of bridges), we will of course need to source two bottles of Tjórmskåleian brandy and your finest local marksman to launch the ceremonial flaming arrow.

Our very own Perclancy has become romantically entangled with a local clamberry wench. He has not confided this in me personally, but I have observed him return to our quarters with yellow stains on his neck and mouth on several occasions this summer. What a naughty little lark!

Dear girl! I am afraid all eighty four spaces for our Royal Artists in Residence at court are occupied by multigenerational creatives of noble blood! But ho! Perclancy tells me the kitchen staff are ALWAYS looking for clamberry wenches! Few are willing to blemish their digits such a bilious shade!

The guards swept my quarters and there was no one to be found. You are safe, and I am so terribly grateful!

What is this?! GUARDS!!! Intruders!!!!!

A weighty selection this is. It could very well set the tone for my entire reign!!! I will ruminate on it further, and then I will inform the high-strung fellow who has been following me around of my decision.

A weighty selection this is. It could very well set the tone for my entire reign!!! I will ruminate on it further, and then I will inform the high-strung fellow who has been following me around of my decision.

It is an absolute pity that the third individual selected to share their pitch did not make an appearance. A scroll with the word “bridge” written on it – an inspired concept! I was positively desperate to hear more!

The second pitch was given by the unclean little boy I saw the day I arrived in town! What fun! He spoke of ridges, or perhaps badges? And mock fiends and a Master Puffy and Meowmers? These must be his feline companions? But he had an indefinable quality, ‘neath all that mire, an entrepreneur I see.

The first pitch came from a handsome, paunchy young chap. He carried himself like a man with something to prove. He spoke eloquently, but I found my mind wandering – this tree is enormous! – and I must say I remember very little of what he said. But I would trust him with a bridge.