(1865-12-21): Illusions and Prayers
Illusions and Prayers
Summary: Julieta's letter compels a surprising response…
Date: 1865-12-21
Related: I'll find them later
NPCs: {$npc}
Players:
Henric  

Sometime in the late evening Henric withdrew to his apartments within Roseguard. He sat heavily into a chair with the diamonds of a reclaimed necklace playing about the palm of his hand. Green eyes looked down at the token he had given Julieta in his moment of loneliness. That's all it was he told himself, leaning back in the chair with his eyes flickering over toward the letter.

Initially he recalled his reaction. His face went red in the middle of the courtyard and once he found somewhere to read the letter, he felt a cold detachment overcome him, as if he knew all along what the outcome would be. Yet, he was neither upset nor regretful, embarrassed, certainly, but not as heartfelt as he thought he would be - just detached. Aloof, astray from his emotions.

Julieta's words had summed up the reality of it, the reality his interactions with all the women he's met over his lifetime had been. "Illusions…" his fingers squeezed the diamonds before he set them aside, sitting back with his head slumped to the side and his opposite hand pressed against his forehead, eyes let to close.

Illusions they were. They had brought hopes for a higher purpose…once. Unfortunately at the end of the day, it was like seeing a mirage of water in the middle of a desert … It was what he wanted and what vanished so easily in front of him when he reached for it and it made him long for it even more.

His fingers dragged down across his face, lowering to skim the finger pads across the puckered skin on his neck, scar tissue evident in places that didn't heal so well despite all the help that Emilia gave him. A reminder what he took for granted. A reminder of what darkness he let control him. A reminder that some things could never be forgotten and shouldn't be. A reminder that he had a lot to make up for.

His first act saw him leaning forward to the table before him, where he had placed Julieta's letter. A fresh sheet of parchment was pulled forward, the inkwell opened, a candle for waxen seal lit.

His quill began to flow…


To Her Highness,

Princess Alessandra Al'Ramar,

I feel pressed and compelled by the One to write you, even if it should be viewed as a poor decision to make. This need to speak to you, I understand, caused the ripple which has seen me to the lowest point in my life that I have experienced since my family fell four years ago. I am burdened by the strife that my involvement has caused you, my brother, my people, and my nation. It was dishonourable to express myself in the way I did, fore it put you in a grave position most awkward.

What illusions bore me to such point I've come to realize, was driven from a deeply rooted inability to cope with the loss of my mother, my brothers and their wives, my nieces and nephews, and my father. More importantly the loss of my siblings still present. My relationship with them grew distant after the siege. They transformed into people I could not recognize anymore.

My brother, as you know, was thrust into the head of house, as if now to act our father. My eldest sister, as if our mother. My younger sister, she carries such a change in her that left me… lost as what to do and how to help her. For the longest time, I felt a distance with all of them that only increased the measures I had to take to make myself feel … for lack of a better word, whole.

The war took from me and them… I never dealt with it. Instead, I tried to fill the absences I keenly felt with the first hint of love that came my way, even if I mistook your kindness for a return of affections. I pray for my own forgiveness in this matter. But I wish you to understand it and why your rejection caused me to anger so quickly.

It was not you that I lost, but the illusion that could have been, the illusion that I didn't have to be quite so alone. I mean not to win your affections with this, but to explain… I'm facing what I couldn't before and it's because of you.

It may be of little consolation and may seem erroneous to write… just know that I sincerely pray that you find all happiness you deserve and I thank the One he allowed me to meet you and gave me this chance to heal.

All the best,

Lord Henric Cassomir


As Henric looked down at the drying ink, he study the words, feeling the impulses to fold it and send it off with the next bird. Yet the more he looked upon it, the voice of the Priest in Sherfield came to mind. Think of your actions and will these actions hurt more than they help?

He read the words on the page over and over and over. It made -him- feel better for writing it, certainly. But what of her to read it? The consequences of Alessandra receiving the letter would mean her household would know. Someone would read it before her.

With a heavy sigh, Henric lifted the corner of the parchment to the flicker of the candle flame. "Words got me into this, more words won't help now…" he muttered to himself, as the letter started to catch flame.

He tossed the burning remnants onto a silver platter, before he rose from his chair. Stepping over toward the window, he thrust it open to let the cool night air breeze against him. His eyes turned up at the moon set against the crisp winter night sky.

Languidly he lowered himself down to kneel, resting his elbows up on the bench underneath the window, while his hands closed together and he began to find the words of prayer not so strange upon his lips.

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