Beloved sister,

I write to you from the tower in our father’s castle, a storm at my window, saddened that you are still sore over your fallen Falcon. Perhaps if he was a little braver…

I am not sad for his departure, but sad that you still pine for him. He was a vulgar man, sister. Too vulgar for the likes of you. Undeserving of your kindness and unfit for your cruelty. As a lover, his limited imagination could not begin to fathom the depths of your delicious depravity. That was the reason I took his life. No other reason than that.

You will have to forgive me. My hand has been influenced by poetry. Sweet poetry. As sweet as the wine in your cellar. I think of it now. On my lips. On my fingers. The poetry of my Lady Diamond.

The Season is nearly finished and yet, she lays here beside me, asleep and dreaming. And I must say, your first maneuver was as obvious as a hammer. Dear, sweet sister. I expect better from you…

(read more in the HotB Design Blog)

A Game of Tears, Part 3
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