Astronverse: Ayron

The letter...

Bright light streams into her window, the Vamperian morning sun prickling her skin. Alyssa turns over, her pillow shifting as she wraps her legs around her blanket. A small string of drool trails down her chin and onto her sheets. Dreams of pain and sorrow clouds her mind, as she opens her eyes. She can hear diminished thumps from the next room, where uncle James is getting ready for work. She sits up, and rubs her weary eyes. Why do we wake up more tired than when we fall asleep? The thought plagues her as she gets ready for a hard day on the farm. She throws on a bra and shirt, pants and socks, and walks nimbly into the kitchen. The smell of Yare radiates from where James is hunched over the stovetop. He hears her enter the kitchen, and turns around with a broad smile on his face. "Morning kiddo. You want some Yare?"

"Do you really need me to answer that?" She says jokingly, and pulls him into a hug. She looks up into his yellow eyes, and says in a mock curious voice "James, why do we wake up more tired than when we went to sleep?"

"I don't know, what've you been doing in your sleep?" He laughs, and kisses her forehead. A small knock on the door makes them turn around, and a letter slides through the letter flap. Aly glances at him in surprise, and sprints to the door. She picks up the letter, the Emperor's Skirl seal imprinted on the back. The paper is a pristine white, the words 'Ms. Alyssa and Mr. James Middleton of Whitling Farm.' The pair exchange a look of fear, and Alyssa walks fast into the kitchen. She takes the Vomasteel knife out of its sheath, and carefully pries the letter open. A black piece of paper falls out of the envelope, white writing blurry as it flutters to the Gowood floor. Alyssa picks the paper up carefully, and reads the title slowly;

"On Lieutenant Ayron..." She looks up at James' grim face. She continues to read. "We regret to inform you that LT. Ayron Middleton of Arcen Battalion 7 has been pronounced dead-"

A small tear rolls down Aly's cheek, and onto the paper. She continues to read "after a successful raid on a Renegallian base on Weilerot. We have not yet located his body, but the survivors recount his brave act of saving a private from a Renegallian Lancer. We will continue to update you as information comes through. We are deeply sorry for your loss, and a Medal of Vampereo will be dispatched as soon as possible." They exchange a look of sorrow, pain, and unspoken grief. He holds her, the Yare forgotten on the table.