(A limerick is scrawled at the top, stained by teardrops)
There once was an elf maiden from Cormyr
Who was infamous from Daggerdale to here
Her legs would she spread
And took anyone to bed
But Gods, could she hold her beer.
I was sleeping. Just now. Not in Reverie and not due to the exhaustion brought on by those I bring to my bed. Sleeping. I suppose that I have been exhausted in another way; having to upkeep this ruse for Ron's sake has been more tiring than I've let on. It is the exhaustion of another two deaths and rebirths, each more horrifying than the last. It is the exhaustion of the harrowed. The exhaustion of this weakened state, of what these shadowy blades do to me.
It is the exhaustion of those left behind.
And now..(the ink is smudged by moisture at the end of the sentence)
I dreamt as I slept. I was in Degannwy- though there was not a soul in sight. Where the remnants of the shattered tree was supposed to be was instead a mighty chimera, nearly exactly as I had read in stories with the exception of its faces. The bestial necks did not end in monstrous faces, but instead bore the likenesses of people I have known. Caerylia and Eruheran, Ron and Evandra. And upon the tail...the glaring face of my twin brother. The creature stood tall and roared at me and I knew it to be the accusation it was. As the claws came to descend down upon me, putting me from my misery, I woke.
My hand was clutching the guitar that Ron had given me. Veronika's instrument. Scattered about me are the pages of sheet music that she has left. "Her legacy." What does she mean carry this on?
Why does this feel like goodbye?