As much as Alraia wanted to claim that she was forced into the situation, that she had no choice, that truly it was the intention of her father, it was all but excuses, and the young lady could only hope that the wizard did not want an answer. She had nothing more to say. She endured the booming voice that surrounded her, blanketed her with questions, a practical statement, really, and a sense of dread rippled throughout her body. It was a mistake to disturb the wizard, and she protested dearly to her father about this, yet there she was disturbing the man with the ill reputation and not for her interest but that of her family, or rather just her father. About to speak, the gates opened with a distressing sound of grating metal against stone, and the young woman's finely shaped brows knitted together and her forehead furrowed. It was unexpected, and disappointment needled her in the hope that he would have sent her away. She bit her lip to stave off the pout that longed to form on her rose coloured lips that curved most sensuously, and trepidation fluttered throughout her as she stepped forward and through the gates.<br/><br/>Her leather soled shoes made a soft noise on the stones as she timidly stepped forth, and then her mouth fell agape at the splendors of the garden; part of it seemed to be wilderness, and yet there were patterns to the nature that only man could make.  She leaned close to a blossom that she knew not the name of, and let the heady rich scent tickle her nose, and as she stifled a small delicate sneeze, her green eyes caught sight of the gravel, heard the voice, and with a scream that caught in her throat, she knew not what to say when the wizard appeared before her from nowhere. Alraia stepped backwards and almost crushed the flower she just smelled as she studied the man before her.<br/><br/>The young woman thought he looked like a predator, a regal bird used for falconry; deadly yet elegant and beautiful, and one whose senses were sharp and not to be deceived. It was unnerving, and  as he demanded the letter, his fingers held out for it, Alraia fumbled for it. Deeply, it was buried in her satchel, and when she pulled it out, a thick cream coloured note sealed with a burgundy wax, the letter was badly wrinkled. With a trembling hand, she gave it to him, and tried to manage a smile.  “It explains all, I believe, but then I don't know the contents of it.” She forced  herself to grow quiet, and with a nervous habit, the young woman twisted a strand of her honey blond hair that was paling into an ash hue from the summer sun.