The cold and dusty night air washed over the streets of Crookback. The daily's wash of blood on the street pavement began to dry. Perched above the stone fairway was the second floor of a rotted, wooden structure. The faint illumination of candle lights came from the open windows.
Inside was a man, leant over his gas-lit desk. Stacks of papers remained on the periphery of his vision. He pulled another sheet in front of him, his pen poised for action. A cursive, and barely literate signature was written: CLOVIS. Another sheet replaced the signed one. The process continued yet again.
The next two items that required his attention were letters. Clovis reached for the first one, resting it in front of him. It rattled as it was thunked on the desk. Like any good office, a letter-opener, a small silver knife was handy. Once it was open, regals came tumbling out. Within the sea of silver was a small, hand-written note: 'Thanks'.
Clovis opened the desk drawer in front of him, before arching his body over the large supply of regals, he wrapped his arms around them and swept them into the drawer below. They tumbled down into the desk like prizes would in an arcade machine. The clinking of the regals brought great pleasure to the lawyer. The drawer was promptly shut, and locked.
The letter-opener got back to work on the second item on the agenda. It was noticeably less heavy, and was not addressed to a Clovis Raspall, or to the law office. It was to him directly - using his old name. This struck him as strange. He folded out the note that was inside the envelope. The writing was difficult to read in the dark. Clovis brought the candle closer for better inspection.
"I'm sorry," the letter started. "We heard you are making a good life for yourself in Regalia. The family is incredibly proud.." It continued. "Perhaps, after all, you were not entirely wrong."
The man scoffed, his hand reaching out for a nearby coffee mug. Clovis couldn't help but skim through the remainder of the message. Apparently the confessions were of no interest to him. The final words read. "We've run into some financial problems. Maybe you could help us. We can repair relationships, and most of all, you can see the beautiful Saint Lys sunrise again? – Regards, your mother."
After taking another sip from the mug, he set it atop the letter. A circle of coffee tainted the paper on which the letter was written. "There's no sunshine in all of Aloria I would visit if it meant returning to you," he said to the silence of his office. "If you want my forgiveness, you should come to me in my new big fucking house and beg. It's what you wanted me to do, after all."
That letter was put into a new pile, marked 'FOR THE SHREDDER'.
Inside was a man, leant over his gas-lit desk. Stacks of papers remained on the periphery of his vision. He pulled another sheet in front of him, his pen poised for action. A cursive, and barely literate signature was written: CLOVIS. Another sheet replaced the signed one. The process continued yet again.
The next two items that required his attention were letters. Clovis reached for the first one, resting it in front of him. It rattled as it was thunked on the desk. Like any good office, a letter-opener, a small silver knife was handy. Once it was open, regals came tumbling out. Within the sea of silver was a small, hand-written note: 'Thanks'.
Clovis opened the desk drawer in front of him, before arching his body over the large supply of regals, he wrapped his arms around them and swept them into the drawer below. They tumbled down into the desk like prizes would in an arcade machine. The clinking of the regals brought great pleasure to the lawyer. The drawer was promptly shut, and locked.
The letter-opener got back to work on the second item on the agenda. It was noticeably less heavy, and was not addressed to a Clovis Raspall, or to the law office. It was to him directly - using his old name. This struck him as strange. He folded out the note that was inside the envelope. The writing was difficult to read in the dark. Clovis brought the candle closer for better inspection.
"I'm sorry," the letter started. "We heard you are making a good life for yourself in Regalia. The family is incredibly proud.." It continued. "Perhaps, after all, you were not entirely wrong."
The man scoffed, his hand reaching out for a nearby coffee mug. Clovis couldn't help but skim through the remainder of the message. Apparently the confessions were of no interest to him. The final words read. "We've run into some financial problems. Maybe you could help us. We can repair relationships, and most of all, you can see the beautiful Saint Lys sunrise again? – Regards, your mother."
After taking another sip from the mug, he set it atop the letter. A circle of coffee tainted the paper on which the letter was written. "There's no sunshine in all of Aloria I would visit if it meant returning to you," he said to the silence of his office. "If you want my forgiveness, you should come to me in my new big fucking house and beg. It's what you wanted me to do, after all."
That letter was put into a new pile, marked 'FOR THE SHREDDER'.
