(no subject)

[alt_regulus]

Eleven years hiding amongst this rabble, having somehow escaped your thoughts. Now this... on my pillow. A nice touch really. To open my door and feel it staring at me from across the room. 

 

Yesterday I would have sworn that the mark burned less than it did back then - that the slithering lines of ink had somehow faded under my skin. I imagined that I had, perhaps through sheer force of mind, grown numb to your effects.

But now it twitches with every stroke of the quill. Was I ignored then, or truly hidden in the stink of this place? Perhaps this has nothing to do with you at all.

 

 

But what is there that has nothing to do with you?

 

Comments

[alt_regulus]

Is it you then, Lucius, who now speaks for us all?

[alt_lucius]

If by 'us' you mean all our company in the Lord Protector's service, then by no means, I have not that honour. But I am privileged to know our Lord's mind in the matter of his faithful, and it was his express wish that you receive the book you now hold.

As for your family, your cousins and your esteemed mother are most anxious for your safe return to the fold.

[alt_regulus]

Then the journal's origins are as I suspected, but I know enough to realize that the intention isn't as simple as you suggest.

You never did seem to fully understand His taste for playing with things.

[alt_lucius]

No.

I am all too familiar with His nature--and His talent for caprice.

It's for that very reason, Regulus, that I urge you to come forward now, while His hand is open and extended. Do not wait for Him to grow tired of your coyness.

(Nothing is ever simple, Regulus, but consider that if He found you once, He can do so whenever He wills. Pray that He is in a benevolent mood if you force Him to come to you.)

[alt_regulus]

Good night, Lucius.