Where did you go? Did anyone else survive? Why did they attack us? Are you proud of me? the list of possibilities war inside me, each striving to be the one that fills that tiny space. Like some sacred memoir to the long dead in a capsule sent back in time this tiny paper will let me talk to a man who to me has long since been dead.
The pen in my hand moves as I try to force it to write everything in my mind all at once, but it is soon stilled by the cold grasp of doubt. If he survived why didn’t he tell me. Why did he hide from me? is he ashamed of who I have become. Ii swallow grit and sand as I choke down my doubts for the only man I have ever truly loved and longed to prove my worth too. I wish to ask my brother frost fire what I should say or even Rynn and his honeyed tongue what I should put.
There is however only one question I would ask of the man who left me on the field of the dead and hid from me my whole life. I want to know why you left? Why have I been alone for so long? Why should I keep figting so hard for a world that seems to care so little? Why shouldn’t I take the road that Simon wishes to take and just wench and drink until I die smiling and happy. Why should I try to follow honor to die like pup? Why should I follow duty and die like Redfield’s son? Why should the son of someone who didn’t even want him and could not even impress his guardian enough to stay aspire to more than taking what he can?
I simply put
and sign underneath.
My insides grind as I contemplate whether I even want to hear an answer. I turn away grab my sword and head off to war once again.