Work Text:
「 To the mother of the little lady,
Greetings, and I suppose you would be wanting me to bid you to walk ever in the Fury’s gaze. I am no longer sure if I believe myself, however if those words bring you succour, you may have them.
You may wonder why I have chosen to write to you so long after the fact. My comrade and I swept your daughter away from the leering grasps of the Knights who would have done worse to her than mere interrogation. We delivered her to your arms, and your little family is whole and happy once more. That’s how the story should end, no?
Tell me, did you recognize my eyes? No, you need not reply, there is no return address on this letter. And I already know. I saw it, when you looked up at me carrying your sobbing little lady in my arms. They’re quite pretty eyes, it would be a labour indeed to find someone who would forget them. Or who would willingly drop them from their mind.
Your home has seen the lives of two children, from their first cries in their cradles to their first steps and so on. Do you remember the first child you bore and held in your arms? Far before your lordling and lady ever were a wish in your heart? Do you, mother?
My apologies if my words bring back any unfortunate memories you wished to leave behind. I wish it were not so, but that which one abandons has a habit of returning when one least expects it. If you now wish for absolution for your abandonment, you will not find it here.
I laid awake for nights on end after you left me. The nightmares were frightening, and even now I can never quite shake off the feeling of being like refuse, something to be thrown away, a burden to be cast aside at the earliest convenience. A child is wont to ask its parents why things happen the way they do, but what happens when there is no parent to ask? The questions fester, rotting the mind and soul, of course. No doubt other children in that place had worse afflictions than I, but would you truly believe that makes me lucky? I have no doubt that the things you had to endure to raise me weigh heavily on your conscience as well, no matter how deeply you may bury them in the mundane now. There are people much worse off than you, but that does not erase the indignities you had to face.
Now here we are, a tarnished knight and a polished lady. Does it strike fear into your heart to see me clothed in this garb, operating in ways the clergy would deem heretical? Or do you still remember the pain of the struggles at the bottom of society? Do you understand why I walk this path, as I understand why you chose yours? You flinched when you set eyes on me. Was it from the blood, or seeing your own blood staring back at you?
When my comrade and I plucked your daughter from those damned Knights, she told me that you would have scoured the entire city and howled from dawn until dusk until she was returned to you. Perhaps it’s an exaggeration, for I don’t recall hearing you screaming when our master brought us your request, but I don’t doubt that you have spared no effort to ensure her safe return to you. I don’t doubt that, for the ones you truly love, you would fight the saints themselves.
I remember when you took your fists, even the furniture, to the faces of those monsters who would seek to touch me instead of what they had paid for. I remember the way you would swaddle my wan body and call me your lone star. The one thing worth waking up and going through hells for. I hope you say the same to your children now.
What of your husband? That man who turned away once he knew I was not the blessed little bundle of joy he expected to have sprung from his beloved harlot’s womb? Does he still remember me? How he had tried to be “father”, and I tried my damndest to be a “child”? I still remember when he brought me a sweet from the city above, and I’d thrown it back in his face. Even at that age, I thought he was simply trying to snatch you away, mother. He was just another one of those customers, who would leave you weeping and leave me to be the “man” comforting you and hearing your woes. I was wrong, in a way. You do seem happier, positively glowing, under his patient care. I admit, I cannot help but be jealous. Not that he has you, no, but that I couldn’t have been there beside you all. Father, mother, son, siblings.
No, it would do no good to ask him about me. He loved you when you were a whore. He loves you now that you are a madame. And what of your children? They have done no wrong by simply being born from you. What good would it do for your little lady to find out that her saviour is her half-brother? Well, she did stare as if she’d met her prince. Tell her to look at boys of her age and station. And ideally outside her family tree.
I wish you and your family well, however. Your children look to be bright, if a little slow on the uptake when it comes to matters of safety. And they treat my comrade well in spite of his appearance; perhaps they’re interested in making him an uncle? Their father certainly has taught them manners and an open heart, and given you a marriage that is the envy of the city.
I too, have someone I wish to marry. Someone with that sort of kind, guileless look in his eyes that your husband has. Though knights of our bloody path are destined to be buried young, I too wish for the moment to be like you, mother. To have the man I love by my side, and for us to be surrounded by family. No guarantees of grandchildren, but if fate is not unkind, perhaps we may meet again under favourable skies. Perhaps I will introduce you to him, as a young lady submits her chosen one for her parents’ approval.
Hah. What a thought.
I shall end this letter here, for I am running low on both parchment and ink. I wrote this merely to ease the burden on my soul. Selfish, I admit, but I do believe after what you’ve done, I am allowed a moment of selfishness with you. You may take these words to heart, come visit me in the Brume your husband pulled you from, or you may burn them as you have burned the love of me from your mind, allow me to fade back into the mist of your memories. They are, after all, the words of a dead man walking.
Be well.
Elfreide Hawthorne The Onyx Shade 」