Serendipity (or Calamity)

To the epitome of emotional constipation,

To the epitome of emotional constipation,

Great gods almighty; I have thrice read the line, and still it strikes as heaven's bolt. You have played Ludall Toveht's instruments. The anonymous murderess to whom I write has played Ludall Toveht's instruments. Yea, she has conquered dragons and travelled the world, yet this, somehow, is most impressive. Have you attempted his sonatas on them? The violin concerto? Is it ecstasy beyond words? I implore you describe it. Furthermore, how on Toril did you happen upon the legendary quartet? Were they stolen? Gond's fiery beard, did you steal them? I ache for want of answers; pray deliver me!

Alack, do pardon my excitement. By some spirit of indignity I was momentarily overcome. I had known of your precious collection, but could ne'er have foreseen this turn. Tis curious, for I dreamt of Toveht's work this past night—the Ketze Sonata, in fact. Twas effortless to play in sleep, not so in waking. A strange, sweet dream it was; I felt taller and my fingers thicker, though not undexterous. An elf with wild, windswept hair rose from the piano to embrace me.

I admit that Toveht's Opus 132 is unfamiliar, but the reverent verses you have dedicated are the perfect weight of the soul. What inspiring angel entered into your ear is welcome in mine. O, how these words stir reminiscence of better days. Your Lyros had a tender heart in his breast. I cannot think that he cared only for your aptitude. As you recall his kindness, I remember my own dear master—all the music we made and might have made together.

Once, we played the Bosc double violin concerto, and his wife, Myrthe, tried her hand at continuo. She was thoroughly awful, and it made me laugh such that I struck poor Demik with my bow—an ungodly performance, but one on which I fondly dwell. Now, I know not whether Demik lives or dies. Twas my hope that he would return to tell of those fine things awaiting amid the city sprawl. Perhaps he might have led me from this place. Perhaps he has forgotten me and each parcel of my livelihood left on his table.

That aside, tis cheering to hear of Vivek's recovery. It seems my faith in the pair of you was not unwarranted. Once more, your medicinal magics have prevailed. You have become a veritable healing goddess—an ascension to divinity ne'er asked for but joyously received. O mistress of bandages, shall I lay you burnt offerings for my scraped knee?

Given recent charity, tis ludicrous to shun the concept of friendship with its recipient. Is genuine, healthful affection so loathsome to your kind that you must become mental contortionists? This manic horror of weakness possesses you. Yet, is terror at the workings of one's own heart not weakness in itself? And what is denial but belief in one's own lies for a modicum of comfort? Such flimsy delusion fails to convince me that Vivek is not your friend. At the very least, you are his.

By my truth, I have ne'er known one so determined to inflict perpetual loneliness upon herself. Magical parchment? Selune's ivory tit, did you truly believe some peasant girl had enchanted you into liking her? Today, that same peasant girl could not persuade a goat from eating her walls. Still, twould take a stony skull thicker than mine to deny kinship with one I painstakingly nursed from the brink of death. Nonetheless, should it please you, I shall call him your 'mutually beneficial associate.'

I wish some associate would spare half your trouble on my behalf. In remembering Pevquen Azur and his mighty company, tis not merely the rapture of art and adventure that moves me; tis also admiration of their camaraderie. They lived together, fought together, perhaps even thought together. After our parents passed, there was a time—very briefly—of wondering if I might find that camaraderie in my brother. Twas folly, of course. He was bound by blood and habit, and, even then, proved treacherous. True friends may not, necessarily, be good people, but they are good to you when it matters most—or so I have been told.