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Letter to Catherine Bentarus, 1832


Urahra
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To my sister, Catherine,

 

I don't understand why, but I can't stop thinking about what I saw. Since then, I've quaffed down enough liquor to wipe my memory clean, yet - in the quiet hours of the night - I still see those images burnt into my mind's eye. Imagine staring at the sun. How, even after you close your eyes, you still see the red sphere on the inside of your eyelids. 

 

It's like that, Catherine. When I close my eyes, I see the mutilated corpse of that little boy. 

 

He was so small, Catherine. No taller than my knee. Two, maybe three years old. They sliced him open from groin to sternum and rearranged his insides. They cleaned him like a fish. They smashed his teeth, carved up his face. Dressed him up with strings like a marionette. How could anyone do that to a child? All I can think about are the hours, perhaps days, of agony that little boy endured before he died. I didn't even know his name, but I've shed a thousand tears for him. For him - and every other victim of those heinous, disgusting perverts.

 

How can I return to normal life, Catherine? I can't work any longer. That's why I resigned my job. My heart is broken.  When I look around me, everything seems fake and hollow. It's a whitewashed façade plastered over a corrupt and broken society. I can't sit here and write trite, propagandistic articles for that insipid newspaper. I can't act out cutesy theater shows on a stage where five people were systematically tortured and murdered. 

 

These 'Noble Titans' haven't been brought to justice - and I doubt they ever will be. They're still walking around free, even as I write this. Living ordinary lives among ordinary people. How can I trust anyone? How can I believe in the goodness of the Empire when something like this is allowed to happen? I truly believed in Oren, but now we have corpses lying in the streets -filling the air with their moldering. We have murderers running rampant and anonymous among us.

 

And nobody cares.

 

Nobody cares that a toddler was kidnapped, tortured, mutilated, and murdered. 

 

I know that other men will laugh at me. They'll call me soft-hearted and say "I've seen worse!" But someone has to mourn for these lost, unmourned victims. If no one else will weep over their graves, then let it be me. Let mine be the heart that bears this burden. I feel no shame for the tears I've shed. And may GOD damn this Empire full of uncaring people who merely clean up the dead, throw them in a pit, cover them up, and forget them - allowing them to fester away in injustice, silence, and anonymity.

 

I love you very much, Catherine. I'm proud of you for becoming a holy knight and I think the role suits you. You've found the place you need to be. As for me, I'm still searching. It's been a long time since I've visited home, so... I daresay that's where I'll be going next. Maybe I'll find some healing there.

 

Take care, Catherine. Please give Geoff and John my best. I'll miss them. They've been good friends.

 

Anthony


P.S. I'm putting James in charge of the theater. Pass the word along to him, if you could. We've finished rehearsing Courtship of Sarai. It's an important play, so make sure it gets staged properly. I wish I could have seen it, but I can't remain in Oren a moment longer.

 

Spoiler

@Wholesome_Thomas

 

This letter is not published publicly and was sent only to Catherine Bentarus.

 

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