Ma chère Aurélie,
Let me begin by apologizing for not having visited you recently, I have been out of touch with some parts of myself and home has made me weary. Since your departure I have noticed the colors seem a lot less saturated to my eyes, how strange is that? And I do not recall the sky ever being so steely and barely blue. Apples are not vibrantly red anymore, but some shade of redwood, and now that I think about it they do not grow as sweet and crunchy as they used to. Perhaps a bad harvest this year, who knows.
Regardless, my ink is not infinite although I wish I could write to you forever, but a wise woman once told me that some days are made for reminiscing and I believe today is one of such.
Do you remember way back when you used to teach me how to wield the sword in your father's yard? I remember every defeat, every ounce of pain and every laugh. I could never best you, and I never had a talent for swordsmanship so I tried to convince you that the quill could cut deeper than the sword. I like to think that over the years, you'd grown to take my word on that. Speaking of, for the past weeks I've been trying to recall that poem I wrote you years ago on the subject, and I think I've succeeded. Note to self: I should truly begin to name these but finding a good name is a process I can't force.
"A little ink, a word, a pearl
Butterfly to a hurricane
And thus is the power words
Little wonders to keep us sane
To be read time and time again
The same feeling, just as intense.
Turn the page to avoid the pain
Or close the book to forget
But a spoken word is not such
Once breathed it can travel much
To stain the book of another
With ink of blood to pierce the aether.
A sword may rend flesh and spill blood
But the quill can stop a heart's thud
A cut spirit bleeds just the same
And spills demons you cannot tame."
I do not know how long I will remain in Barovia, but I promise I will bring you a bouquet of the most exquisite of flowers
to pose upon your resting place when I return, and not a day will pass that I will forget to water them.
'Til I join you in death,
- Mathias