Second Age of Storms, 49th Summer

Dear Kadrin,

Since you have given me permission to be morbid, morbid I shall be. My mind has been filled with darkness of late. The Tower feels like a prison I shall never escape, my mother and father my jailers, the Shield Corps a penance for a crime I cannot remember. If I am not exhausted, I am restless; if I am not restless, I am listless. Yet I am conscious at all times that what little freedom I possess could be taken from me at any moment. I have such dread for the future, Kadrin. These letters are my only solace—and if anyone finds out who I have been writing to this whole time, I shall not be allowed access to parchment nor ink nor courier ever again.

I pray this shadow will pass. My circumstances are unlikely to change for the better, but perhaps I will learn to see them differently. I despise myself for burdening you with all of this unpleasantness; it is far from what you deserve.

It pained me to read your last letter, and not because of your sister’s troubled love life—though she has my condolences. I cannot stand to hear you talk about yourself as if you’re worthless. Not when you are the only reason I—

Don’t write that down, Courier. Simply write “You are not,” and let us leave it at that.

Yours for as long as you can bear it,

Reena