[ The letter arrives, neatly folded, with only a dab of wax to seal it, though there is no emblem upon it. Instead, she has laid a piece of lavender into it, holding it tightly. Something between them, as an good seal ought to do: it could only be from her, and only to him. ]
— His Majesty, King Anduin Llane Wrynn of Stormwind, Priest and Servant of the Light,
I hope you may forgive me my long silence in speaking to you. I fear it is because I have been unsure in how to even begin - though I am a woman of many songs, it seems words of my own being escape me frequently. With the weather rising, I knew I would not be as I ought to be, with you, and I could not bare to be anything other than what you deserve. No less for the festivities busying the city so, I had not the time to pen it to you. For there are scarce the words ready, in my heart, even now, for how well it is I think of you.
That what I must set down, is the truth of my heart. I beseech your forgiveness if it a clumsy way to speak so but I have thought and thought upon how to say it, and I wish only to tell you that I hold you in the deepest affection, I have and will, all my days. Whilst perhaps there was elsewise to blame for all ardency, it was truth I gave from my lips. A truth which I said gladly and would say again to all that ask of you, how it is I feel for you. How fond I am of you shall always be true.
But with the humblest of souls, I hope you know that I have no designs on you or your affections, and as I have been informed by those of this city, there is no risk of a child, nothing and no one to bind you to me. This city so often seeks to bring desire about, even on the most unlikeliest of grounds, and I would be a cruel and sinful woman to ever wish to bind you in any way to myself. Nor a ruse to force your hand to a contract or any other such matter other than to know the pleasure of your company with my own, something I hope, that you found in me, also.
If you wish not to see, nor hear from me again, as I can only imagine what a woman you must think of me, as honourable a man as you are, simply only send me nothing and I shall know to never speak of any of this, ever again, to anyone. But I wish, most fondly, to talk and share with you again, in whatever capacity you deem fit to look upon me.
I lay my truth gladly in your hands, with all honour, truest noble lord, Gilia St. Loe, Second-Child of the Isle St. Loe, She Who Sings the Sea to Prosperity.
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I hope you may forgive me my long silence in speaking to you. I fear it is because I have been unsure in how to even begin - though I am a woman of many songs, it seems words of my own being escape me frequently. With the weather rising, I knew I would not be as I ought to be, with you, and I could not bare to be anything other than what you deserve. No less for the festivities busying the city so, I had not the time to pen it to you. For there are scarce the words ready, in my heart, even now, for how well it is I think of you.
That what I must set down, is the truth of my heart. I beseech your forgiveness if it a clumsy way to speak so but I have thought and thought upon how to say it, and I wish only to tell you that I hold you in the deepest affection, I have and will, all my days. Whilst perhaps there was elsewise to blame for all ardency, it was truth I gave from my lips. A truth which I said gladly and would say again to all that ask of you, how it is I feel for you. How fond I am of you shall always be true.
But with the humblest of souls, I hope you know that I have no designs on you or your affections, and as I have been informed by those of this city, there is no risk of a child, nothing and no one to bind you to me. This city so often seeks to bring desire about, even on the most unlikeliest of grounds, and I would be a cruel and sinful woman to ever wish to bind you in any way to myself. Nor a ruse to force your hand to a contract or any other such matter other than to know the pleasure of your company with my own, something I hope, that you found in me, also.
If you wish not to see, nor hear from me again, as I can only imagine what a woman you must think of me, as honourable a man as you are, simply only send me nothing and I shall know to never speak of any of this, ever again, to anyone. But I wish, most fondly, to talk and share with you again, in whatever capacity you deem fit to look upon me.
I lay my truth gladly in your hands, with all honour, truest noble lord,
Gilia St. Loe, Second-Child of the Isle St. Loe, She Who Sings the Sea to Prosperity.