Thursday, October 15th, 2009 | Uncategorized
It is with a careful and steady hand that I write to you now. Careful, steady and sober. I have ordered my cellar be locked and remained in my rooms. I have used the two weeks you have given me to discover Shajar’s location to purge the poison from my veins. Yes, all the poisons. Even the ones you have secreted into my system without my knowledge.
Oh, what a clever and resourceful slut you are! Poisoning my wine. So slowly. How many years now has it been? Filling my mind with clouds. It was only your most recent letter that alerted me. You should know now that my addiction to your potent potables has been cured. You have turned my most precious weapon–my mind–into a weapon of your own. You cannot rely upon it as an advantage any longer.
My faithful spies in our father’s castle have reported the truth of what you wrote. Her body has been returned to me, as you wished. Her broken body. I caressed her hair one last time before I set her to the pyre. Her lips were too rotten for a final kiss. Another insult you have compiled upon the injury you have delivered.
Two weeks was what you gave me. It has been four. And yes, you have won, little slut. You have won. And in return, I shall tell you what you want. But only at the end. I shall make you wait for your victory. As long as I can. For you have committed many sins, my sister. Many sins. And for those sins you have committed, you shall pay dearly. I shall return the injury you have given me. But I shall not stop there. No, I shall deliver an injury to you that is far deeper than any you could ever have given me. You shall pay the price for murdering my happiness. You shall pay the dearest price of all.
But to draw out the anticipation of your final victory, I shall first list the insults and injuries you have bestowed upon me. And then, the Revenge.
Oh, yes, harlot. Do not think that you have the final victory here. No. I laugh now. Can you see my hand trembling? Can you? Can you see how my body can barely control itself for the black irony that makes me laugh? Sister, I have been saving this for you. A seed I planted so long ago in preparation for such a day. Such a day as this. That seed has grown into a beautiful blood red rose with such wicked thorns…
But I must not allow myself to become distracted. I must not allow myself to draw this out as far as I can.
Your first insult, you cowardly trollop, was slutting with that Falcon (who’s name shall never pass my lips). We made a promise to each other when we were young. We bled on it. Before we even knew sorcery, we bled on it. We swore we would belong to each other. And you gave up your flower to that imbecile. That cretin. That dandy know-nothing. You fell for his pretty promises and his flashing eyes and his smile. Did you think I did not know? Did you think you could keep any secret from me? I knew. Yes, I knew. And I waited for you to make a mistake so I could find you there. Naked. Helpless. So I could watch you beg at my feet for his life and I could steal it from you. To punish you for being so stupid.
Yes, it was a punishment. But it was also to make you strong. My own little bit of alchemy, there. Transforming my sister from the whimpering girl she was into the woman she is now. That was my first act. I repaid your treachery with a gift. Always has been my way. Repay your little sins with great gifts.
It was I who made you strong. It was I who burned your weakness from your blood. It was I who transformed you into the woman you are now. The only woman worthy of my devotion. Or, so I thought. Or, so I thought.
All the strength I gave you. But you still cling to your weakness. Ah, but we shall discuss that in a moment, shall we not?
You see, I like to test the things I create. You are my very own creature, and so, I chose to test you. To see if you were truly worthy of my love. And I have found my creation to be… wanting.
You lack the Courage to face an enemy face-to-face.
You lack the Cunning to see the trap I laid out for you.
You lack the Wisdom necessary to know the simplicity of avoiding it.
You lack, sister. You lack.
Your second insult was compounded by an injury that can only be healed in one way. You have murdered my happiness, slut. After I begged. After I pleaded. You murdered her. And for that, I shall return the favor in kind.
Shajar will be murdered.
But it will not be my hand that pulls the knife. Oh, no. Dearest, sweetest, most delectable slut…
… it shall be yours.
You will murder him. You will murder him to spare him the pain I shall give him. You will murder him to keep his ears from hearing what I have to tell him. You will murder him to protect him. And do you know why, my pathetic, love-struck sister?
Oh, how I urged you not to bring him into our Game! How I pleaded! Knowing you could not resist that which was denied to you. All I needed to do was say, “Leave this one alone,” and with the certainty of Seasons, you leapt upon him. Spread your legs for him.
You are as pathetic as you are predictable.
You may have seduced him, but not completely. Not yet. How do I know this? Ahah. My hand trembles again. Trembles with the delight of knowing I have beaten you, Ismene.
Do what you always do, slut. Pry from him his most private secret. Ask him to tell you his secret name.
And then, Ismene Yvarai, you will know my Revenge.
With deepest sincerity,
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