Twelfth Missive

Nov 24, 2009 22:29

I...I find myself at a loss for words.

Apparently, my son is dead. He was thirty years old when he died.

But, for me, Rudolf was only a boy of ten. I have yet to see him grow up. I do not know what sort of man he becomes. And yet...he has become a man, has grown, while I remain here.

How long have I been in this ridiculous City - three months? Four? And I have apparently missed a lifetime's worth of experience at home. How is such a thing possible?

I am unsure of how to process this news. It is almost impossible to believe, yet believe it I must. It cannot be false, considering the source. But I cannot even imagine it - Rudolf is ten. He runs around the palace, terrorizing the servants and aides alike with his precocious ways. He wishes to go hunting and be a strong and brave man when he grows up.

To the young man who asked about the worth of my results with the box: in light of this new information, no, what I received was not worth the price. I believe I made the wrong decision of what to request. I should have gone home whilst I had the chance.

box, franz misses his wife as always, how are such things possible?, send me home now damn it, franz does not understand

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