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To the People of Oren, a Letter of Resignation


audyush
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Best City Clerk.

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"I guess you were okay... for a snow elf..." Franz says, mailing Anna a bag of half-baked cookies that he and his youngest son, neither of them talented in matters of cooking, made.

 

((im not crying ur crying

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Mika Uialben coughs as he caught wind of the letter, commenting "One of the most efficient tax collectors resigns? Must be a rough time there" before he then shrugs and goes on with his day

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His Imperial Majesty issues a summons for Annabelle Kelmenour to pay him a house-call at Augustine Palace at earliest convenience before departure. On his desk, if one might have the pleasure of seeing, are letters for The Most Esteemed and Most Especial Imperial Order of Merit.

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George Galbraith weeps at the resignation of Anabelle, reminiscing the days where she stood up to Adrian Helvets in the House of Commons after the Everardines tried to legislate her race as a second-class citizen.

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"She's retiring?" Anastasia exclaimed in confusion upon hearing the news from a loyal courier. "And she didn't even throw a retirement party!"

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Sir Edward Galbraith would shrug and weep as he reads this missive written by Madam Kelmenour "The best City Clerk that Oren has ever had. My best decision as Secretary of the Interior was definitely to hire you as a Clerk in Helena."

 

"I shall propose her acceptance into the Imperial Everardine College as a member of the Association of Saint Everardine."

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your loyalty was strong but everything must come to an end at some point, I hope our paths cross again in the future my dear friend.” A voice echoed in a raspy tone at the hearing of the Woman’s departure from the nation, a grin cracking across her countenance prior to crumbling the note and going about the day. 

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"Ah what a pity for Oren" remarked Jolfrey as he heard the news. He paused, recollecting his memories, "I remember when I first met her. She owned the best bakeshop as well."

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"ah llir of mine... perhaps I can now finally visit you more often" Kallian Syrivir mumbled to himself after reading the letter before carrying on with his day

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An aide would bring the missive to the scraggly haired, decrepit corpse of a man. As his verdant eyes scan its contents, the corner of his mouth creeps ever so slightly upward, followed by an airy chuckle. "Bolshe spasiba, Annabelle. I hope she finds her peace." The elder croaked as he stood, putting out his cigar and heading towards the door. As he pulled the door shut behind him, he would enter a small coughing fit, a young hand now full of vitality would raise a crimson handkerchief to his mouth, a few splotches of blood being added to it. He would pocket the handkerchief and step outside, basking his juvenile face in the tropical sun as the voice within his head receded.  

Edited by BogsBinny
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