my beloved cartian, fruit from my tree, twinkle in my eye

[Impending Faith]

                                                                                       

To Cartian,

Pekeo District 36912,
Amaryllis, Dal'Thala
Delphina.

If you have received this letter, I am dead.

It is quite likely that you are now aware that you are the sole inheritor of my legacy, my name, and the wisdom I imparted unto you.

But what of you, daughter of mine? My heart shatters as I pen these words to you.

Grief is perhaps the worst lesson of all for it is constant and never-ending; a black box that you tuck into the recesses of your heart and observe how it spills over into everything you do.

Suli'nalora sumnarel.

You once traced the notches in my palm and danced in the silk of my hair.

Wherever you went, I felt the air alchemize just by sheer contact with your spark.

I was stirred from the agony of my melancholy and staved myself from slumbering ever since. .

Suli'nalora sumnarel.

I pray for you and your weary soul.

I pray that you seek solace in others and captivate them with your grandeur.

I pray she sends an unlikely friend to shelter you and more to lavish you in wonders.

I pray that you develop an interest in your realm and establish yourself in its structure.

I secretly pray you join the faith, most of all, as I have done and as your father did.

I pray you never take my name. .

Suli'nalora sumnarel.

I retire now to the shadows. Long has my spirit gyrated through the cycle and against the fabric of life itself!
I'm tired. So, so tired, my dear.
And should you ever seek to rouse me from my sleep, lay a letter at my pedestal. Give it to Nemea herself if the weight is truly too heavy.
But stay far, far away from bramblethorns on winding roads where Nemea's back is turned and a pervasive melancholy rest.

You do not have what it takes to walk that road.
To see life between the cracks as the seasons change. .
To chip at that false sky and break the illusion. .

To escape the limbo of your own grief. .

Be ignorant to the folly of others and to yourself.
Lead a mediocre existence thriving off of the hum-drum monotony.
Stay asleep.
Glean only the beauty and dispense with what lays beneath.

I say this to help you.
You wear every ounce of my name just as true.
The madness and the blues.
Nemea, herself, sent you to me; a malady most cruel.
Only I won't play the fool for it.
You will.

Mercy.
Oh, sweet mercy, Mother, for grief bitters thy soul.

Suli'nalora sumnarel.