Carly opened the letter and eagerly shoved the letter for just her in to her handbag, deciding she would keep it to be read at home. She could smell a man's cologne wafting from it, but was unable to place which it was, but she did enjoy it's smell. It was rich and manly. She realised that she did not even know what age Benjamin was.
Dear Ben,
As you are well aware from my last letters, Honesty is a language I often speak all too clear. I find myself thoroughly invested in finding out more about you, it is like a murder mystery game, but the end is less macabre.
I do enjoy that idea of a competition would you however be open to the option of the competition submissions being accepted online? It would make my life much easier if you did- and also reduce the chance of your letters getting lost in post due to receiving so many. I find I rather enjoy this form of communication, as inconvenient as it is.
That at least tells men we are in the same country, I am a Manchester lady originally. I look forward to reading your second paragraph, I have squirrelled it away to read when i have more privacy than my glass box of an office. I do so wish I could offer you the same, but unfortunately I was born to write other people's words, and not my own. I have attached some options for cover art and would love to hear your thoughts.
Your Carly Rose.
P.S I ask of you to detail how you like your tea. I feel that will reveal a lot. Carly was slightly relieved to hear that he was British, she often found the american authors overbearing and condescending. She hoped that coming from a similar heritage may aid in their connection.
Once home, Carly devoured the short paragraph he had written, lost in the feeling of having benjamin Prescott writing her her very own short excerpts, for nobody else to see but her. She sighed, wishing he was less reclusive. She would like to just hear his voice.
@ A Drop On the Window
(Also if it is any matter of interest, the girl giving the interview in
this video is how I imagine Carly to sound.