The Woman in White

Ron had three charmed quills working for the next six hours. The first one floated behind him, scratching away on a levitating parchment as he paced and spoke, gesturing with his hands. The filled parchment then floated to the second quill, which was charmed to search out grammar and spelling errors. The third quill scrawled out a final copy void of scribbles and corrections.

Ron let the story form in his mind. Instead of a hurtful, spiteful man who was betrayed by his girlfriend, which was too autobiographical, he changed the lead character to a ladies man, successful with any woman he focused his thoughts on. The woman in white was a shy, insecure maid in his regency household.

While Ron wrote mainly fiction novels and some mysteries, his publisher told him that if he worked on his sex scenes he could easily have the romance genre audience as well. He was joking at the time, but Ron silently thought about it. Romance sold very well, but most publishers didn’t care to target women with love on their minds. However this one could be nothing but a love story, and thus romance at it’s fullest. He would target the female reader, and hopefully, she would see it. Ron was determined to find her again and he would use this story to bring her out.

The woman in his book would be drawn to the leads character and attended a masked ball to search him out. After a night of intense passion, not unlike the one Ron and his woman shared, he would search her out and when she finally admitted to who she was, they worked on making society accept a maid marrying a man of wealth. The leading man in his book, didn’t care about words, and his close friends would be allies in a strong sense. He made the woman in his book, one who had the support of her man. He wanted to show her that he could be the same way, that he was willing to do whatever it took to see her again. He could only hope that this book would speak to her. That was the main reason he was writing it, to show her that he could be what she needed. He could be her man.

After a shower and a much needed shave to eliminate the fur coat that accumulated on his jaw, and a wave of his wand to reduce nearly three inches of hair growth, he took the preliminary parchments and went to his publisher’s office. He smiled to Pansy Parkinson, sipping her tea at her desk. “Another best-seller?” She asked returning his smile.

“It might be, but I have licentious reasons for writing this one.” He said grinning and laughing at her confused expression. “Is he in there?” He asked pointing to Justin’s office.

“Yes, he’s waiting for you.” She told him.

Less then half an hour later, Justin stopped in the middle of the stack of parchments and looked at Ron. “This is a romance novel.” He said.

“Yes.” Ron told him.

“I was just having a go when I said that you know.” He said, still unable to believe what he had read. “You went ahead and wrote a romance novel?”

“Romance novels generate a lot of money. I’m hoping to reach a new reader pool.” He explained.

“You certainly will.” He said. “Women are going to love this. I have an erection from that last scene.” He dropped his eyes back down to the page.

“Good.” Ron said rolling his eyes. That wasn’t the reaction he’d imagined from Justin but whatever it took to get this book out there he would deal with.

They spoke of a possible release date and a schedule for submitting parchments. Ron already had the foundation of the book, he needed only to go back and detail the story. Ron wasn’t daunted though, the story was writing itself and pouring out of him. It would be the fastest he ever wrote.

“We can send a sample chapter to the artist and get a few cover designs to you also.” Justin told him.

“That won’t be necessary, I will do the cover.” Ron said.

“We have an art department Ron.” Justin said looking confused.

“I’ll do it.” Ron said firmly. Justin threw up his hands and let the matter go. After setting a schedule for submitting sections of the book, they wrapped up the meeting and Ron returned home.

Over the next month Ron appeared at every benefit, gala, charity auction and promotional party that Justin notified him of. He searched out the woman but she was nowhere to be seen. He spoke to every interviewer, giving a quick synopsis of his book, hoping to draw her out of hiding when she read the description he gave to anyone who wanted it. He didn’t hear anything from her, but he didn’t give up hope. It was still early.

While he submitted chapters to the editor, he also worked on the cover. It didn’t take long, he just took a photo of the very image he had in his head, thinking how it would look on the cover. A single white feather sitting on a black satin pillow. She would know what it meant. She had to. The dedication he planned would also make it clear.


Three months later ’Masquerade’ was released. The book jacket was magnificent, and side by side, the books looked like a huge black satin bed covered in feathers. The first page carried his dedication. It read: ‘To the woman in white, who holds my heart in her hands.’ He made as many appearances as he could and booked as many signings as anyone asked him for. The entire time he was prompting ’Masquerade’, he was searching out the woman in white. He never saw her in the two months that followed.


“This is amazing Ron, all this promoting you’re doing has made this your top seller. Why didn’t you do this with all your books?” Justin asked during a meeting.

“Umhum.” Ron muttered without enthusiasm, continuing to stare at the carpet.

“Ron, what’s the matter with you? This book is the most successful you’ve ever wrote. You are talking to everyone who will listen about it and you are depressed as hell.” Justin demanded.

“What does it matter to you?” Ron asked fixing the man with a glare.

“Because it’s starting to depress me you ignorant twat!” Justin threw at him.

“Well, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings. Please forgive me.” Ron said quietly.

“You don’t do sarcasm that well. Now what it the fucking problem.” Justin asked.

“The fucking problem is that I haven’t seen her in months, nearly half a years worth of months and counting. I wrote a book about her, showing that I care and she hasn’t sent me one owl.” Ron stared down at the floor again.

“Are you telling me this is real?” Justin held up the book.

“Didn’t you read the dedication?” Ron asked.

“I thought you had a girlfriend and wrote her a sexy story. You mean there was a woman who hid her identity?” He was fascinated.

“Yes, there was. I was hoping that by writing about how it could be then she would write to me again.” Ron explained.

“You wrote a book just to get a woman to talk to you again?” Justin asked him bewildered. “What are you planning to do if you get he urge to get married?”

“We won’t know because I can’t get her to contact me again. But I can imagine I would go to extreme lengths in that area as well.” He admitted.

“Why don’t you just send her an owl?”

“That’s a good idea, why don’t I do that? Oh yeah, because I don’t know who the hell she is!” Ron cried out.

“Alright, alright, no need to test my eardrums.” Justin told him calmly. “Or my tolerance for crap.”

“I am shit out of ideas on how to bring her back, and it’s pissing me off.” Ron rubbed his brow.

“Why not just ask her publicly to write to you?” Justin suggested.

“In public, ask the woman I wrote the book about to contact me again? Let’s assume for a moment that women all over the country will not write to me hoping I will be tricked, number one, I would not only be setting myself up for nothing but gossip and a barge-full of charmed letters intent on making me fall in love with the wearer of a certain scent, but the moment it’s known who she is, the press wouldn’t leave her alone.” Ron said.

“But you would sell a million more books, since everyone would hear about this love story, they will want to read the book that came from it.” Justin said.

“Do you ever think of anything but making money?” Ron asked closing his eyes and letting his head fall back.

Justin stood up and placed both hands on his desk, leaning forward. “I’m your fucking publisher asshole!” Before Ron knew it a crumpled up parchment hit him square in the face.

That night among letters, and reviews of his book, Ron reread for the millionth time the last letter she had sent him. In his other hand he held the white feather, twirling it between his fingers.

He had hoped for some response from her, some owl at least. Nothing. He had received nothing. He was alone now and all he thought about was her. He needed her but she didn’t need him. Maybe she really didn’t need him. Ron let a single tear drop down his cheek and roll down his jaw.



Ron’s book continued to do well. He hadn’t made anymore appearances, having sunk back into his depression. The reviews for his novel were all stellar and he had bags of fan mail, but he wasn’t interested.

He was once again sporting scruff on his chin but he managed to shave every other day. He sat in his usual armchair while he spoke to his publisher.

“As successful as ‘Masquerade’ was, you won’t have to turn anything out for some time. You can relax if you want.” Justin told him. “Although you could capitalize on the popularity and turn out another one fast. With the sales from this one still high, you could mirror the results in another book.”

“I don’t want to write at the moment.” Ron told him.

“If you ever find this woman, remind me to scream at her for the torture I’m going through dealing with you.” He said, shuffling through parchments. “You need to sign these.”

Ron rose and looked at basic legal papers, recognizing the standard forms he had signed with his other books. He picked up the quill, but frowned. “Justin, you’re out of ink.”

“Oh shit, it was all those letters this morning. I think Pansy has some in her desk.” He said.

Ron stepped out of the office, but Pansy was not at her desk. He opened the top drawer but found no ink. He moved to the other drawer and his heart jumped into his throat. Reaching down he took the white feather mask in his hand and brought it out of it’s hiding space. Bringing it to his face, he inhaled. The familiar scent brought back memories of a passion filled night filled his head.

A gasp brought him back to reality. Pansy Parkinson stood a few feet away, having come back from her errand. The stack of parchments she had been holding now in a messy heap on the floor.

Their eyes met and Ron felt the whole world go silent. All he heard was her labored breathing. “It was you.” He said, taking a step toward her. Pansy turned and ran down the hall. “Wait!” Ron took off after her.



A/N: Thanks everyone for being patient with my postings. The wireless in my building has been on its period i suppose. And just to put the word out, my brithday was in the 25th, so this califonia girl is now 34! Yeah, another years closer to that ineveitable mental breakdown!!!!