Edward - Letters to the Past
Edward sat with some trepedition in the chair by his desk, looking at the blank page in front of him. He had had this bouncing around in his head, and the only way he'd free himself of it was to get it out onto the page. The desk was bare of all other distractions; only the paper, desk lamp and pen. It was a popular practice, he'd heard, writing letters to people who weren't around, or who were and not sending them, and here was something he just needed to get off his chest.
Dear he began to write, and stopped. The pen remained at the end of the r, pressing into the paper until a tiny pool of ink had soaked through to the desk below. That...wasn't quite right. No. Edward took a new page and tried again.
To the much revered Marcus Dirae,
Greetings. I feel that there were some things left unsaid or unaddressed that should be, and so this letter. We never really spoke to each other, as there were always people around, and I feel that things may have suffered for that. I understand that a Prince must maintain a certain attitude in public, a level of etiquette around them lest others become too familiar.
I was frequently dismayed by your treatment of me. There is punishment, and dealing with those who scorn your laws, and then that crosses the line into sadism. Unnecessary cruelty does not become any leader; it inspires discontent and dismay amongst the people, and helps to bring enemies together. What bothered me most was that I was trying to follow the laws, trying to follow your edicts and had begun on the path to joining and was dependent on forces external to me. I served the city and did good work for you, for Michael now called Daniel. All I ever desired, and still all I seek was to do service to the city and its people.
For a long time, I have lived in fear. Cringed whenever you or Luther Freid went by, even flinched when someone introduced themselves as Sanctified. Fear of the pain and the humiliation, the torture done and then later of the nightmares. What it came down to was fear of fear, which somewhere along the line I realized was just foolish. What will be will be. As I've come to accept this, I've thought more about the source of it.
I have never hated you. Nor have I been angry. Frustrated would have been a better word, and disappointed. Concerned. I felt like there was such an anger in you, such a dark malice that came from some place and pervaded your soul, kept you from so much of the good. My statements may be presumptuous; I have not known you personally, nor known your life, but I can not help but wonder what happened in your life to take you down such a path? I suppose that staying so long with the idea that you were Damned might have had something to do with it, but I'll always wonder if there was something else. And if I could have done something to help.
It's very sad, what's happened. I want you to know that I forgive you for what's happened. I forgive you for what was done. I hope only that you've found some kind of peace.
~Edward Bloom
He made sure the ink was dry before carefully folding the letter and putting it in the envelope. The envelope was addressed, sealed and then he stood, going out to the backyard. He moved to an empty stone planter and picked up a box of matches and a pair of tongs he had left there. Catharsis.
Edward carefully struck a match, forcing away the momentary stab of panic at the sight of flame before bringing the match to the letter. He still so carefully grasped the letter in the tongs, holding it for as long as he could before dropping the burning paper in. As the flames curled the paper to ash and took the words away, he felt a slight lightness in him. It wasn't much, but it was a step in the right direction.