Dearest,
Three people burned to their deaths today, and no-one even asked any questions. Perhaps those men deserved it? I cannot know. Though the crowd - you should have seen the crowd. It was surprising seeing them all stand by the stable, very still and very quiet, as if statues. If only they were like you! Why, sometimes, when I close my eyes at night, I hear your thoughts - you say so much with silence. The crowd today was also silent, but it said nothing. The men also said nothing, even though their screams were deafening.
Will I hear you tonight? The golden marks of distinction on my cloak likewise mark me a target for the angry, the bitter, and the unfortunate - this you know better than any other. My beloved, I write these words atop a stool bought from a nearby pauper, myself sitting on a half-bit bed, and I feel the night sky's many-eyed gaze on my back. It is the second time this year they burned down my house - but do not bear them ill will! I know, I know you tell me so often to forgive myself, but I am adamant in my belief that these attacks are not merely impotent rage; they are my ongoing punishment. Only this room was spared, as it always has been. As long as it is spared, my true punishment will continue to elude me.
The Prince sent word by courier this afternoon, he promised that my house will be rebuilt over the next few days. He offered a temporary shelter at his palace, but I told him, as I tell him again and again, that this is a palace of my own. Naturally, he does not see what I see in this room; this "dark, decayed, and dirty" room, as he put it. Cannot it be cold in that cellar, he asked, do you not suffer the elements with no ceiling there, he asked, is this truly the proper way for my right-hand to live? But he will not sway me, because you know how much this room means to me. And I know how much it means to you.
Many times have I written about the subject of Spirit, but only the superfluities, the after-shocks. Have I ever told you what it felt like in the beginning? Oh, but what a fool it had made me. When I climbed off that altar, still naked, I already felt more clothed than the priests around me. I had power, dearest, more power than any other with Spirit had ever had, more power than ordinary man may have-- man! As if that word had crossed my mind! There was no "man" back then. Those who surrounded me were worms, maggots, things lesser than dirt, things only of so much worth as to absent-mindedly wipe off one's boot! My view was thus: common man was to me as dust is to the sea. Then you came.
Beloved, forgive me. The events today conspired perfectly to lead me down this line of thought. I've spoken many times of that awful night, of that amazing night, yet you must not misunderstand me: I never mean to withhold news by virtue of repeating old words. I must, I must, I must relive that moment whenever the moment asks to be relived, or else my soul will burn itself from the inside, and our short time together will have been for nought.
Do you remember it, I wonder? Your mind is all around me, always, in this room, so you must remember.
It was the same night after I returned from the temple, mere hours after awakening upon that altar. I walked into my house, drunk on Spirit's wordless promises of power, expecting a quiet evening to spend on plans to destroy all others who had Spirit, then to crush humanity into a ball of yarn and play with it like a kitten who had just found his claws. It was too much for me - my mind wandered hither and yonder, a restless ghost unchained by Spirit, wild-eyed from the infinite possibilities. It was too much for a sober mind, and so I went down to the wine cellar. There, I met you.
Today scholars tell me that what I cannot possibly be recalling this moment right, that the whole event was over in a second or maybe two, but I know that for us it was hours. You heard me from above when I walked into the house. You were but a thief, and you knew that the Prince would send his finest wine to the newly made Spirit Archon's - mine, that is - cellar. It was human to take it, and as such, I should have seen a human. I should have seen a human being trying to get by, but I did not. I saw a pig that had dared to eat off its master's table.
Do you remember what you felt? Do you remember the inhuman rage marring my face? I remember your terrified expression, which now blurs this ink with the salt of my tears. Do you remember that spit of liquid flame that shot from my fingertips? I remember seeing your body swell, burn at the seams, and explode. I thought it was funny then. I know, beloved, I know that your mind is all around me, because I saw your head burst and I saw it splatter all over the walls. All over me. But did you see what happened after?
Did you see me stand in a dazed silence for many seconds that were years? Did you see me drop to my knees? I had actually ended a life, and in that moment, I understood what that meant. Every memory you had, every love, every hate, every sight, every person you knew, everything died with you.
The three men that burned today were silent. So were the ten I killed yesterday. So were the hundred I killed last month. So were the ten thousand I burned alive in what was once the city of Starkveil, the city that refused to pay the Prince's taxes. Tell me, beloved, why are you the only one who speaks? Why do these stains of you keep me docile, a chained dog, away from my dreams of conquest? Why must these stains never fade?
But enough of this pining ink. I am practical; as it were, I can neither do with you nor without you - though I'd imagine it is healthier for all other memories, for all other loves, hates, sights, and persons, that I am kept chained by you. If there was no you, pride would turn me into the same mindless, instinct-driven animal that I thought all other people to be when Spirit first entered me.
A final thought: in moments, the ashes of this letter shall join your essence, and I will again hear your voice just before retiring to the land of dreams. But what shall you say? What have I not heard before? Has this confession, then, been for nothing?
Yours forever.
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