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Turadis · (This post was last modified: 05-25-2023, 01:08 AM by Turadis.)

On the northern end of the Isle of Korvara, there is a great city by the sea called Meiaquar. South of this city, close to the border with their western neighbor, there is a house. It is a rather large and magnifiicent house, with thick paper walls, quiet gardens, and clean wooden floors. And within this house, there is a room. A clean and cold bedroom, tucked away from the warmth and light of the outside world by curtains drawn taut. And within this room, there is a table. It is a fine mahogany table that sits low to the floor, both well used, and well observed. For it could more accurately be described as it's owner's place of residence than the house itself.

And atop this lovely table, within this lovely room, within this lovely house, by this lovely city, there was a stack of lovely letters. Carefully composed by the brushstroke a steady hand skilled in calligraphy. The letters were signed, stamped, and ready to be sent to their recipient. Yet despite this, not a single letter was sent. Each one of them remained carefully stacked within that room, cold, and alone.

This is what these letters say.