Remorse

[Shadowlord]

January 12th

A letter was slipped under the door of Raye's room at the Inn, early in the morning. Shadow had not been sure she would be there - or even if he was yet in the city - but he was unwilling to seek her out magically. As if such as her could be found that way; he imagined she had no small amount of protection, if she was anything like as careful as he thought. So he rolled the dice and had a discreet courier deliver it to the space she rented. The shuffle of paper against wood heralded its arrival. It was written in the Common tongue of Rhy'din, though the words themselves flowed like Elvish, full of whorls and loops. the envelope itself was sealed in thick, red wax, pressed with the heraldic symbol of Battlefield Park.

Lady Rayvinn of the Winds,

I hope this letter finds you well. I hope it finds you at all, but I had no other notion of where I could send it but to your room at the Inn.

I wronged you last week at the Hilton, wronged you in ways that I never intended. I call myself a gentleman; others call me so. But I committed one of the worst violations against gentlemanly behavior, and against a true lady, that I ever have. In just a few words, a careless action, I treated you with such disrespect that I think you might never forgive me. I would not be surprised if you do not, to be honest.

I do not think of you as a whore, but my actions that day spoke otherwise. I reach out to you now, send you these words, to tell you first, that I am truly sorry for acting like a wet-behind-the ears pup, and not giving you the respect you deserve. I know not what station you might hold, or have held, amongst our people, but if I had to guess I would say you were born to leadership, to rulership, and you deserve nothing but the highest respect.

I think my time amongst the shorter lived races has infected me with a sense of haste, a sense of recklessness, that is generally unknown to our people. And in my haste, I wounded you, and for that I have lived in a state of cold shame these last days.

I noticed you had come to watch my final match of the Iron Fists season; I noticed, and could summon no words. For that I am truly sorry. I did not mean to ignore you, but your presence there was the last thing I would have expected. And it was good to see you, to see your face, even though I knew I had caused you upset.

These words I write are simply that. Words on a piece of parchment. If you can find it within yourself to allow me to express my apologies in person, I will be in front of the Red Dragon Inn on Wednesday evening, at seven of the evening clock. Perhaps we could have a drink in the Outback or the Inn, or some tea at the Teas and Tomes. I will not attempt to draw you from your comfort to some strange hotel, this I promise.

If you choose not to meet me, I understand completely. I will not further impinge upon your time, or press you for contact. Know that I think of little now but my desire to make amends for my terrible mistake. I hope the days find you well, my Lady.

Sincerely,

Shadow of the Tides