Terra looked over the the bustling streets below her. Below people went on with their business, going place to place, living their lives. She was standing on the rooftop garden on the tea house the Puerokars owned. The garden was crowded with plants, crops and flowers, all chaotic but put together beautifully. Soft winds swept over the garden, rustling the leaves and vines, her cloak flowed behind, letting a slight chill set in. It was far colder up there, up in the northern mountains where snow hugged the ground and ice dripped from branches. Terra shook her head. In her hand was her small leather notebook, the pages half filled with scribbles and words collected over the decades, documenting moments of her life. She had bought this book from Scarlet over two decades ago, when she had first joined the Puerokar seed. A whirlwind of emotions formed in her stomach, has it been over two decades already?
A burst of strong wind blew through the garden, tangling her hair and cloak. Damn it all! Curse her selfish mind! Why couldn't she just stay put here? She could live a life like the people walking on the streets below. But she knew she couldn't, she couldn't for the sake of her mind. The city even before felt too suffocating, now it was too unbearable. The air here felt too hot, too claustophobic. At least up here on the rooftop, high in the air and among the fresh smell of plants, she felt some semblance of peace. She gripped her notebook. She had written a letter for Dyana, explaining to her of her troubles. She hoped Dyana wouldn't hate her, but she wouldn't blame her if she did.
She walked back inside the teahouse. On the first floor, she placed her notebook on the counter. Taking a deep breathe, she untied her mask and placed it on top of the notebook. The mask stared back at her with the blank white eyes. Strangely it felt comforting, like she was staring back into her mother's eyes. Terra looked away, she couldn't linger. Using a small river stone, she weighed the letter she wrote for the seed members on the counter.
The door was slightly ajar, letting in a small breeze on wind in. One more goodbye and it was time to leave. As she stepped out of the teahouse, Terra felt her guilt being slowly washed away by the cold winds.
Letter to the Puerokar members below
