A single letter is pinned to the board before Greygate, written in rich magenta ink and scribed by careful claws.
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To Whomever Reads,
I write this now while I know I still can write; I can see transparent the hate and fire and fear that will come to rail against this city. I will be honest, for what eyes may read this one lonely writ, and admit that I am afraid. I am afraid for my life. I fear what will happen to me if I choose to stay and remain in a city I have come to know as a second home. But I made that gambit when I chose to come here. I made that gambit when I decided to live here and learn to love Regalia and all its tiniest details.
But I know that in due time, with the way this ship has sailing, my love for this city will mean nothing to most. I know that many see the word "Occult" or "Mage" and treat it with fear and hate because of scars that have lasted 310 years and longer. I do not believe your hate or fear is misplaced. I acknowledge that many reading this have good and just and true reason to look at what I am and what I am capable of and wish to see my ability to live freely come to an end. I do not write this to change your mind, but rather I write this for my own peace of mind, before my voice becomes silenced:
I forgive you.
With how the winds point and the land murmurs, this is about to become a city divided, and with division comes bloodshed. There are lines already being drawn across alliances and guilds over the question of how those who wield powers unnatural should be treated, whether living or alive. This isn't a question of land or nations but a question of ideals and lives. And when one's ideals are pitted against another's life, the room for forgiveness dissipates and leaves only anger, sorrow, hate, fear.
So I write this, because I feel somebody must. For my own sake I must believe that forgiveness will exist after all this has transpired. I do not believe anybody else will be willing to, nor do I wish to force either on any side to forgive when this is a matter of existence. So I will, whether I live through this or not. Even if you do not apologize for whatever will happen, even if you never apologize, I forgive you.
I forgive you for the words of abuse that will be thrown at me like slings and bolts and arrows, in fear of my magic and in ignorance of just what I am.
I forgive you for the worry I will face in having to watch people once peaceful turn to bloody intent for the sake of defending their life or their ideals.
I forgive you for the time I will spend dreading the worse in waiting for friends to come home who may never return from the clutches of violence.
I forgive you for placing me and others in chains and shackles in order to protect the ones you love, to make the world feel safer for them.
I forgive you for trying to take away my Magic and watch as I starve and wither away into nothing.
I forgive you for refusing to forgive me for standing by my right to exist as a person, not a dangerous thing.
I do not suggest that those who wish to control Magic are without right and cause. Magic can just as quickly become a weapon as it can be a tool for miracles and restoration. It would be ignorant to deny the harm it has caused, but at some point this cycle must end. I choose to believe the life of any one person matters more than the Occult power they have been touched by. I invite you to disagree.
I have said the mark and length of my words. I will pray to the silent gods that Regalia may come to be a place where I do not have to apologize for what I am any longer. I will pray to them again that I may make it through this all unscathed. Perhaps I am a fool for not returning home and living in peace, but I'd rather be a fool than one who runs home a coward to wait for the world to "be ready." So I will remain. And until a brambled collar is placed around my neck, I will speak.
Signed,
A Proud Mage, Silontaar, and Son
A Proud Mage, Silontaar, and Son
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