Ileas

To Hayley,   Your words are like daggers in my back. To hear them from someone who calls me their friend is a cruelty I did not expect. You speak of rebuilding, of anger, of purpose, yet tell me, what use has the rot for the bloom? What comfort does the frost offer the seed it kills?   Do I have to remind you, Hayley, that I did not return in the guise of your friend, but that of a servant? You speak to me as though I still belong to that light, as though the name Ileas carries warmth instead of shadow.   You ask why I returned to you if I knew what I was, and if that is true, whether I was ever truly your friend. But let me switch the perspective: what kind of friend are you if you direct your anger toward those closest to you in a time of need? What purpose has your anger when gentleness and unity are all that might keep us from breaking apart? I have lost a family once, Hayley, and I will engulf the world in darkness before I lose another.   You ask why I came, knowing what I am. The answer is simple: because ruin does not choose where it walks, it merely follows the scent of what it once loved. Perhaps I wished to see if there was still a place in the world that did not wither at my touch. You have given me my answer.   You call me self-loathing. Perhaps you are right. But I have learned that denial is a fool’s kindness. I have worn many faces, the victim, the fool, the repentant. None fit as well as the villain. It is a role that asks for nothing but honesty, and in honesty, I find peace.   If my presence brings death, then let me be death’s herald. If I am the shadow that chokes the light, then at least I will know what I am. It’s better to know ones place in the story than to foolishly believe one was meant for another role. Do not waste your anger on me, Hayley. Anger is for those who still believe they can change the ending. If you want anger, you can have it, but make sure you can control it, lest it cast its evil eye upon you instead of those you mean to strike.   I have seen the last page of my story, and it is written in thorns. And yet, even knowing that, I would still stand beside you, if only to make sure the darkness takes me before it touches those I see as my family. Can you say the same?   With the warmth of the dying sun, Ileas

̶D̶e̶a̶r̶ ̶A̶l̶i̶s̶t̶a̶n̶,̶ ̶M̶y̶ ̶d̶e̶a̶r̶ ̶b̶r̶o̶t̶h̶e̶r̶,̶ ̶M̶y̶ ̶d̶e̶a̶r̶ ̶f̶r̶i̶e̶n̶d̶,̶ Dear lord De la Roost, (every strikethrough and address having a different shade of ink due to being done at different times)   It has indeed been a long time since we last spoke, and it pains me dearly that I could not make it to the reunion of our group. I do hope everyone is well, and I would love for you to send them my best of wishes. It also brings me immense joy to read about your and our friends’ accomplishments, and I offer my sincere congratulations. I look forward to hearing more of your adventures, and I would love to finally begin writing “The Tale of the Twin Knights” whenever I can find the time. With me and my family, everything is as usual. As you might remember, my twenty-first birthday is coming up, and with the additions to our family and clan in recent months, my mother is, in my humble opinion, spread too thin. Which means our old arguments and differences of character are flaring up again. Today, for example, we got into a huge fight about me taking a more active role in the structure of the clan. But you know me, this whole military live isn’t for me. Hard words were said, mostly from mother, but I do admit that I was not the kindest satyr either. To de-escalate the situation, I flet to my favourite place to clear my mind: the cemetery. I know that you find this strange, as you’ve told me multiple times before, but something about being in a place that connects me with the greater stories around us calms me. Still, I must admit that tonight feels different. Something heavy hangs in the air, and the darkness presses in on me as I sit here. I do hope to find some time to work on … (The writing suddenly stops and small pecks of blood are scattered on the edge of the paper)     It’s been a while since I started this letter, but I just could not find the words to tell you what happened. I do hope to send this quickly, so that if word arrives of what happened to my clan, you know that I’m alive. That night in the cemetery, everything changes. As I sat there writing the words above, a sweet and comforting voice called out to me: “My dear dear nephew, would you not like a way to leave?”. Dumbfounded, naïve, and still a bit angry from the fight with mother, I agreed softly. Then a laughter filled the space around me, and I lost consciousness. When I awoke and returned to our encampment, my whole clan had been murdered in cold blood. Searching for mother and my sweetest little baby brother, I arrived at our home, and what I found there shook me to the core. Written in their blood on the door was a message meant only for me: “Everything for you, my dear nephew!”. I killed them Alistan, I killed my family and tribe. How can I ever live with myself?     It's been a few months, and still I have not found the courage to send this letter. I have received the rest of your letters, which means that you don’t believe me dead, and that possibly word of what happened to our tribe hasn’t reached Keralon. Or else nobody cares about their fate. Knowing this, I could not bring myself to burden you with my own. I have done enough already to wound the lives of those who care for me Since then, I have been traveling the land, trying to make a living from my talents, seeking new stories to collect. That has been one of my few comforts. A few days ago, I heard an old fable about a daughter of a merchant with two vain sisters. While they asked for riches from their father upon his return from his travels, she asked only for a single red rose. But his ships sank in a storm and the poor merchant had to ride home on horseback. Not wanting to disappoint his youngest and wisest daughter, he remembered her wish. So, he stopped at an abandoned castle to look for a rose garden. Ah, but you probably do not care much for such tales, so I will not bore you with the rest. It is simply something I enjoy alone nowadays.     In recent weeks, I have been traveling from town to town, enjoying the hospitality of the local inns in return for my entertainment. If only they knew whom they welcomed into their midst. I have also had more contacted with my so-called “Uncle”. He has bestowed upon me certain gifts, which, when used, manifest as warped versions of my usual magic. I do not believe he is truly my uncle. In his own twisted and scarred way, he thinks he is helping me. When he visits, he takes the form of a satyr, but something about him is distorted. I believe he is not what he claims to be. One thing is certain; he has had few interactions with the material plane before this. But it was I who accepted his help, and I who must bear responsibility for his deeds. For what you told me about Vivienne, I do not think he is nearly as powerful as she. This makes me believe he may be of a lower, perhaps even low-ranking, station. Only time will tell whether he climbs the social ladder of the Feywild. But if that is his goal, I am certain he will find a way to involve me in his schemes.           It is with this letter that I humbly apply to once again become a member of your staff. My apologize for the rambling above, I did not have enough parchment to start fresh. 'But I hope that the words above might remind you of the friendship we once shared.' (words in '' are written in pencil in the margins of the letter) I quite enjoyed my employment of your family in the past, and I look back on those times with fondness and nostalgia. Having received your letters, and hearing news of your new domain, Wolf’s Rest, I have decided to travel to you in person and deliver this letter by hand. I am so sorry for the blatant disrespect of not warning you in advance, and I do hope you will grant me the chance to plead my case before you   I look forward to once again serving you, your esteemed family, and your companions Your obedient servant, Ileas