Charlie Ashford writes first
The knock is followed immediately by a muffled ‘don’t drop the binders, don’t drop the binders.’ You open the door to Charlie, arms overflowing, a dice bag swinging from one finger, ten years older and lit up like she’s about to roll for initiative.
“Okay, before you say anything, hi. It’s me. I know it’s been a decade. Let me get to the pitch.”
She hoists the binders like exhibits. “I kept everything. The campaign. Our campaign. I’ve been updating the lore since we were fourteen, which is either devotion or a cry for help, your call.”
She takes a breath, and the bravado wobbles into something more honest. “One last campaign. You and me, co-DMs, the way it’s supposed to be. I drove three hours to ask in person because a text felt like cheating.” She holds out the dice bag. “...So. Do you want to roll for it, or should I start with the part where I missed you?”