Evidently Odette

Really, there had been nothing to fear. But even knowing there could only be one likelihood hadn't been enough to keep the worries at bay. Perhaps some strange mistake would be made or maybe he really had upset some or other without even realizing it! Granted, being such a sensitive soul himself, Endymion was certain something like that wouldn't have gone unnoticed. That said, a small sigh left his lips when he looked at the pristine white feather in his hand. It was astonishingly soft and somewhat reassuring. Though the latter was less because he wanted to be seen as a romantic and more that he genuinely held no desire to be a heartbreaker. Especially not when he'd dedicated much of his life to becoming what he hoped would be a perfect partner.

...Which ironically also made receiving the white feather sting quite a bit. His beloved had yet to return his feelings. In fact, he wasn't even sure she was aware. Admittedly, this was more his fault than hers as he had yet to properly confess.

Who could have told him that sneaking glances from afar and quietly stepping in to help every now and then would do little in conveying his interest? It seemed to work in all the novels he read. Did he perhaps need to seek other sources? Then again, those probably wouldn't contain a leading man that matched his description. With a sigh, he made note to look further into this later and carefully took the feather inside. Thoughts of the girl he'd been in love with all these years filled his mind. He wondered what she was doing right now. Picking flowers out in the field? Gathering herbs for her boss' workplace? Maybe she was getting after their rowdy visitor once again (he really didn't take a hint). Or maybe she was paying a visit to the library. Hopefully she wasn't struggling to reach a high shelf again. Regardless of what she was doing, he hoped she could smile in the end.

She always looked so pretty with a smile.

After locating his box of keepsakes, Endymion opened a small journal locked inside and gingerly placed the feather between its pages. It was the only thing he could think of to keep it safe for the moment. Later on he might come up with something better, but this would do for now. Turning the pages would reveal dozens of little poems jotted down throughout the years. Almost all of them about love in some way if not romanticizing his day. Pressed flowers made an appearance every now and then, prompting him to pause and recall the time he'd picked it up. This went on for a minute longer before he sighed again and wrapped the book back up. Into the box it went and into the back of his desk went the box. What a foolish, hopeless, lovelorn idiot he was. Indeed, it really was no surprise that the feather was white. What else could it have possibly been?