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.