The Apology
Woe be to the poor trees that died in vain - how many pieces of paper were torn up and wasted went beyond Anton’s count. He found each letter he drafted inadequate in some manner or another. This word was poor, or that blend of ink was an eye sore. No - he had to redo it until he was satisfied.
Perhaps what unbalanced the mage was the fact he was being so painstakingly careful in the first place. It was, Anton had to admit , so out of place for him to do so. Yet his mind felt caught on a snag - unable to settle with all but the best.
It had been quite some time since the Chronicler had crossed paths with a particular Demon-Huntress by the name of Korri. The encounter started normally enough- banter, play, some loose flirting. In truth, the mage truly had been drawn by the hint of a scholar after Anton had a brief meeting with her in Dalaran. But , yes, her alluring...personality, had added to the situation. And there had started his long list of mistakes.
Looking back, it was all quite foolish. He had been drawn in by the hint of something special. An unsaid quality that felt almost...kindred in fashion. Yet, when she had questioned him, what how had he responded? Poorly. He played it casual, too much so - and made a right fool of himself. The huntress had pressed him , and reeling for security , he had coughed up things that she tore apart immediately. Disaster of his own make at the behest of a vulnerability he didn’t know - or forced himself to forget , he had. And she had reminded him there and then.
“It wasn’t all that fair,” Anton told himself. But he was the one who hadn’t been genuine. Afraid to be, even.
Something about the elf unsettled him deeply - yet not in he way one was repulsed. It was quite the opposite , really - though he knew little of Korri, and she less of her, she -knew- what he was, and called him on acting otherwise. Perhaps he should have dropped it there - along with sending out the occasional book or note. But, the mage felt the strange urge to better things. And perhaps explain himself? If he could.
It was late into the afternoon when Anton finally burn out completing the note. He attached it safely within the package he was sending out around it - a collection of Arathi foods. Pastas and sauces. Fine bread and dips. Lobster ravioli and warm noodles. And a delicious assortment of desserts. All authentic - none conjured. And to make sure the food would remain fresh, the box itself was webbed in a preservation ward. It might as well have the longevity of jerky.
Now all there was to do was go about his business and hope. Hope, that his message would get a response this time.
“Dear K,
You had the right of it, and I didn’t want to admit it. I didn’t want to waste your time -quite the opposite , but I did. One way or another I hope you find this package to your liking. But if you find yourself in good spirits , and of with the luxury of a second chance, I will come with drinks to match, and far less bad puns. Speak ‘Kryn Val Tor’ to the note, and I will attend.
Warm regards,
A.T.”
- P.S. And by less bad puns , I mean to say no bad puns. Lesson learned.
( @fel-temptation )
