[the letter is written on simple lined paper, and the handwriting upon it is gnarled. strangely wobbly and splotchy in places, as its author was unsure of how much pressure to put on these unfamiliar ball point pens, and was scared to break it.]
To the Emperor of Adrestia, for whom I need no alternate means of address. For no other feels sufficient in conveying both the gravity of your sins, nor my loathing. I despise you. You have cost me all that I love. I must express this before I begin, to expunge it quickly lest my quill is diverted from its task. My penmanship has suffered for lack of practice. Nevertheless, it has allowed me this necessary rumination.
To the heart of the matter: it has been advised to me by this man that it would be a disservice to the dead not to learn the entirety of your motives. In my more lucid hours, I do acknowledge this... Though I have dedicated years of my life to investigating the truth of the Tragedy, it does not explain how the girl I met all those years ago at Lord Arundel’s mansion became the Flame Emperor. Should I accept that even then, you may have been lying to me?... Or perhaps you will simply lie now, to exonerate yourself. In good conscience I know you cannot be believed and it is a fool’s errand to try You are a poison
Every breath you breathe is a concession from me
You are
I cannot yet know what foul humour will overtake me; whether I am to drown in a sea of my own dark and bitter cruelty, or be crushed beneath an immovable despair. From within the cage of my mind, these feel like the only outcomes remaining to me. I will even confess to you that I am frightened. It is a dreadful, oppressive thing to be at your mercy, for the shadow of an axe above one's head does greater pain than the executioner's swing. I am already nothing. What lower sphere still awaits those too broken to live?
One more thing I will confess: at Gronder, it was not madness that took me in that final moment, but despair. I had the opportunity to retreat back into isolation, having lost all those who were still loyal to me. I chose to die. I do not think, in your state of retreat, that you noticed.
I will end this now, as I am falling into melancholy - a state even more pitiful than rage. Doubtless I will hear from you, whether I wish it or not.
Re: Day 7, morning
To the Emperor of Adrestia,
for whom I need no alternate means of address. For no other feels sufficient in conveying both the gravity of your sins, nor my loathing. I despise you. You have cost me all that I love. I must express this before I begin, to expunge it quickly lest my quill is diverted from its task. My penmanship has suffered for lack of practice. Nevertheless, it has allowed me this necessary rumination.To the heart of the matter: it has been advised to me by this man that it would be a disservice to the dead not to learn the entirety of your motives. In my more lucid hours, I do acknowledge this... Though I have dedicated years of my life to investigating the truth of the Tragedy, it does not explain how the girl I met all those years ago at Lord Arundel’s mansion became the Flame Emperor. Should I accept that even then, you may have been lying to me?... Or perhaps you will simply lie now, to exonerate yourself.
In good conscience I know you cannot be believed and it is a fool’s errand to try You are a poison
Every breath you breathe is a concession from me
You are
I cannot yet know what foul humour will overtake me; whether I am to drown in a sea of my own dark and bitter cruelty, or be crushed beneath an immovable despair. From within the cage of my mind, these feel like the only outcomes remaining to me. I will even confess to you that I am frightened. It is a dreadful, oppressive thing to be at your mercy, for the shadow of an axe above one's head does greater pain than the executioner's swing. I am already nothing. What lower sphere still awaits those too broken to live?
One more thing I will confess: at Gronder, it was not madness that took me in that final moment, but despair. I had the opportunity to retreat back into isolation, having lost all those who were still loyal to me. I chose to die. I do not think, in your state of retreat, that you noticed.
I will end this now, as I am falling into melancholy - a state even more pitiful than rage. Doubtless I will hear from you, whether I wish it or not.
[the letter is not signed.]