I stared at the enveloped on
top of my wooden desk, cold sweat running down my back. It was such a
simple thing, like the hundreds I received every year and yet, the
sight of those elegant black letters, the curves that signature took
on the edges of the envelope, it was enough to freeze my body. My
throat grew dry, each breath like a rain of knives on the soft
tissue. I dismissed my secretary with a impatient gesture, the click
clack of her hooves ringing through the room as she hurried out of
the door,
my bared tusks probably helping transmit the sense of urgency. The
door slammed shut and silence reigned supreme
in the chamber, impersonal and unbearable.

The silver light
of the day broke through the windows, the thick
curtains shifted to the edges of the frames. Without my secretary at
her desk, there was a stark emptiness in the office.
The spartan decoration, or lack thereof in this case reminding me how
precarious my position was. Besides the desks and their accompanying
chairs, there was little in the room: only a single shelf filled with
papers and notebooks and a worn sofa that had seen better days. There
were no paintings, no carvings or strings, no decorations to tell I
had been in this very same office for close to five years now. It had
all been a precaution in case a letter such as this one arrived but,
despite myself and the constant vigilance I had had at the beginning,
I had slipped, grown used to the slow movements of life in the border
cities.

With trembling green hands, I
lifted the letter to my eyes, the tough paper scratching my hands and
setting into motions the cogs in my brain. This close to me, there
was no mistaking the penmanship nor the subtle clues embedded into
the letters: the curves of the “s"s, the harshness of the “t"s,
the roundness of the “o"s that was so similar to the “a"s.
They all joined together to form a single message, one that brought
rotten taste to my mouth. I turned around the letter, revealing the
purple wax seal I had once used myself, the crossed tusk embedded
upon it, threw lead into my gut and stole a gasp from my lips.

The letter fell on the desk
without a sound, the purple wax denouncing my cowardice. I tore my
gaze away. The memories of my old life, my worse life flashed before
my eyes, squeezing my heart. My hands flew to my chest, my breathing
coming out in hitched breaths while tears danced at the edges of my
vision. My body shook all over, a pair of silver lifeless eyes stared
at me from the window, judging me like they always did at night.

I threw open the bottom drawer
from the desk, the bottles inside clinking against each other. I
didn't even look as my fingers closed around the first one they
found, a quick pop sent the smell of alcohol and whiskey up my nose.
The liquid burned my throat as I chugged the contents of the bottle,
the cold of my limbs diminished by the warm buzz of the beverage. It
took a few more swigs of the foul liquid before I worked up the
courage to look at the letter again. Another couple set the sharp
letter-opener in my hands and with a decisive cut, the envelope's
contents fell upon the desk.

The copper coin was the first
to cast my attention, the bust of an old bull on its surface bringing
a from to my face. My suspicions were confirmed when the other side
held the vague shape of a mountain, the very same ones I had escaped
through. The dried up flower made my throat close up, the image of a
young orc girl dancing in front of my eyes. My fist hit the table
with a loud thud, the spike of pain helping me organize my thoughts.
The ferrous taste of blood filled my mouth when I bit my lip, my
trembling hands rising up to grasp the single piece of paper left to
check. My eyes eat up the words, each sentence digging daggers into
my chest. A cry left my mouth when I reached the end of the letter,
tears falling down my face.

Dead, she's dead. Oh Gods
she's dead. the thought repeated in my mind over and over
again, while the tears let on to full fledged sobs. My body shook all
over, my will unraveling inside me and with it my emotions.

She can't be dead, she
can't, it must be a mistake. The dreadful black words echoed in
my ears in her soft voice, an edge of accusation to her tone. I
can't lose her, I promised I wouldn't fail.

“But you did. You weren't
here when I needed you." the voice whispered in my ears, her cold
embrace closing around my neck. “I cried out for you. Sent hundreds
of letters until the quill fell of my numb fingers."

“I did all this to protect
you. It was too dangerous for me to remain by your side." I shouted
back, sending the chair crashing when I stood up.


“And
so I died alone, in a remote village where no one knew my name.
Buried in an unmarked grave."

“That's not what I wanted,
it was only going to be a couple of years!"

“Instead they were five and
you didn't write once!" her voice rose, drowning everything else.



“It was too dangerous."


“Everything was
too dangerous for you. But what about me? It was your actions that
pushed me away, your plans that sent me to that awful place, your
contacts that kept me under watch and your money that kept me
afloat."

“How did you--"

“It was obvious, the money
always came on the twenty first of every month, in bundles of 25
bills, exactly, every time. That's something only you do. That was
my only bond to you, but now, now we'll be together, forever."

The whiskey bottle fell from
the table, shattering on the ground next to my feet, just like my
heart.