Ciralin stared at the blank piece of paper in front of her with arms crossed over her chest. In her left hand she drummed a quill against her right arm. Scraps and crumpled papers littered the area beside her. Garnering an occasional, bitter scowl from the elf. There was nothing she wrote that seemed to properly explain what it was she wanted to get across. This was her last piece of parchment though, and she’d be damned to visit the shop again for more in the same evening.
With a resounding sigh, Ciralin leaned forward once more, she dipped her quill into the inkwell and pressed the tip to the paper.
There are no words I can write that I know you would believe without viable proof. As much as I would prefer to tell you this in person, I am unable to make it to Stormholme at this time.
I have returned. Though in my absence it seems much has changed. I do not recall much of anything that lead up to my apparent demise. Though it was disclosed to me that I was not the only one.
Ciralin paused and took a deep breath, blinking back tears. She was still coming to terms with the knowledge that Sigurd was gone too. Joseph didn’t tell her how it had happened other than there was an explosion of sorts. Every time she tried to remember anything about the events that lead to her death, there was a heavy brain-fog.
She sniffled once and ran the back of her hand across her eyes clearing the blurring tears away before returning to her writing.
I would also like to apologize for my behaviors in a time where I might not have been coherent. As a Steward for your company, I realize how fatal that could have been on the image of Anchor Trading, as well as the members. I ask only for your forgiveness, though I understand if it is not easily given.
For any further questions, as I’m sure there will be many, please seek me out in Stormwind. I will meet you any where on your terms.
Before she decided she hated it, she dusted some powder over the letter to dry out the fresh ink and promptly placed it into an envelope that had been addressed earlier. She laid some fresh sprigs of lavender freshly purchased onto the backing before pouring a purple wax, similar in colour to the herb into the center, and pressed a rose seal to stamp the envelope closed.
Hastily, she pushed herself from her seat and managed her way down the stairs of the tavern she stayed in, bringing the letter to the innkeeper with prompt instructions to deliver it, along with a gold tip. Ciralin then made her way back to her room and slowly rolled onto the bed. She stared at the canopy of the bed above her as anxiety gnawed at her insides.
“Soon. Things will make sense soon.”
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