H I M
The one he'd die for, wanted to kill him the same,
But death would be a guest he'd welcome, if she promised to sit by his grave.
................................................
H E R
If there was a list of all the sins she was t...
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Daughter,
I got to know about the attacks on you, twice as they've happened. I expect you're fine despite everything and that the incident hasn't shaken you up. Even though I know you are tough, I've raised you to be so afterall, I still wanted to remind you that your goal is bigger than any such obstacles you'll find on your way.
Have you made any progress?
Whenever you do, do not write about it to me directly. Send a hint that you have and I'll arrange a safer way for us to converse.
And beware of the eyes lurking in the shadows of that palace, the walls there can hear you too. I've found another information of great importance that might make your work easy.
There is a rebellion brewing amidst the the Empire of Simhavat, threatening to out throw the monarch. The news is vague, but it is rumoured that the attack on you at the Palace was orchestered by them as a warning.
I want you to seek out the man who is leading the rebellion in Taransh and convince him to aid you in the Palace.
Your king.
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Sanyukta read the letter once again, in hopes she had missed something the first time. Something she thought her father would have written after receiving news of the attacks on her. Something that would convince her that he still cared for her. But she didn't find any such words.
The name he had signed the letter by was a hint enough, that he was her king before he was her father.
'I expect you're fine' was as far as her father's care for her ran. She wasn't surprised, though, she was merely disheartened. Because no matter how much she grew in age and maturity, deep down, she was still the little girl that craved her father's affection.
Sanyukta held the cloth tightly, her palms fisting around it as she brought it near the large bowl of water beside the table. The water glistened under the rising sun, the petlas of Lotus matching the shade of the sky as they floated.
Sanyukta dipped th cloth in the water, the ink fading away at the contact, leaving no memory of the letters that were etched to it just a while ago.
Her father had given her a special ink, that neither stained the cloth nor the liquid it was washed away with. And the cloth could be retrieved as it was, as if nothing had been written on it before. She had also learned from a young age to remember the words after reading them just once. She lifted up the cloth, placing it back on the side table before as she thought back to what her father had told her.
