[A letter, written in Wa'an, in an elegant, looping cursive. The paper is cheap, but has been softened over time, as though it's been carefully opened and re-folded many times. There are a few places where the ink blots, like water has been dripped on it. The torn, cream-colored wax seal depicts a crane. It's dated with the Wa'an calendar, where 1798 is 1380 DR / 180 AR.]
7 Flamerule, 1798
My crow,
The only thing I have to apologize for is the amount of time it's taken me to write this letter. Even then, I think the worry I've caused you is well-earned. If you've worried about me at all, that is. Well, worry no longer: I am alive.
How did it feel to come back to your home in flames? I will tell you this: it is incomparable to the hurt you've caused me.
Eight years. Eight years of my life I gave you. And what did you give me in return? Lies. Lie after lie after lie. What did I do to deserve this, Rin? Who did I wrong in a past life, for the gods to stick me with you?
My parting gift to you is the truth: when you left on your "business trip" (another lie, I'm sure), a man broke into the tavern, and attempted to take me hostage. Don't worry, sweet husband--I subdued him easily. But it was what he had to say that was truly alarming.
He told me my husband was in debt to his gang. "Surely not!" I protested, despite my doubts, "My husband is a simple tavernkeep--why would he approach a gang for a loan, when the bank would happily lend him money?"
Well, if he were buying drugs from said gang, that would change things, wouldn't it?
Rin, I was so angry, I thought I would pass out. The man who'd broken into our home, the one I'd knocked out and tied up, he looked so scared I thought he might piss himself when I asked him how much money you owed them.
Thirty. Thousand. Gold. THIRTY. THOUSAND.
It's not just about the money, Rin. Money is money. But you lied to me. You swore to me you'd quit. You pleaded with me, begged on your hands and knees for me to stay. I stayed because I believed you would change, I thought you wanted to change.
And you never did. You lied to me, over and over and over.
Do you remember, a few years back, when I had the tavern inspected for insurance? Of course you don't, you were probably away on one of your "business trips" again. Of course, I should've realized that was a lie--for what business do we have? Our tavern was empty half the time anyway. But I digress. The tavern was insured for a hundred grand. I thought paying for the extra fire coverage was a waste at the time, but how convenient it turned out to be!
Do you want to know what I used to start the fire? Our marriage certificate. You should've heard the bottles exploding behind the counter once the fire really got going.
It's all gone, Rin. You should probably run, if they haven't caught you already. The gangster was kind enough to help me plant some evidence--the guards know who to look for. You're slippery, though, I'm sure you'll find a way to evade them.
Don't contact me. Don't even try. Pretend that I'm dead, if it helps you. That's what I'll say, if anyone ever asks. I'm a widow, now. My husband died in a terrible fire. Because, in truth, I still love you. I hate you because I love you. It's easier to lie to myself, as you have all these years, and pretend that my husband was an honest man, who died an honest death. It's easier to grieve you, this way.
Goodbye, my love. May life treat you as well as you've treated me.
Love,
Your crane