A letter, delivered to the Yosai mansion, to be opened only by Miyasuke. It is sealed in wax with no discernible stamp on it and the lettering with Miyasuke's name (first and last) is very, very carefully written.
Within, the words on the page are just as deliberately formed- every letter crafted with the meticulousness commonly seen in children trying to flex newfound literary skills. Written in ink, there are places the pen clearly sat for too long, saturating the paper with ink blotches like a sort of written pause in speech- an ellipses implied but not specifically described.
I write this not as a worker but as a person.
It has been a long time since we last spoke and I have deserved your silence. I have said and done things that are I am ashamed of. I acted like a scared animal and from the beginning lashed out at you because I feared you would hurt me. I did not think that you, too, might be scared, or alone, or angry at coming to Eorzea away from home. You seemed so certain of yourself and, at the time and for many moons after, I felt so lost. Maybe I was a little jealous. Mostly, I was scared.
I tried to understand and to learn, I swear to this. But I am sometimes stupid and the more I tried to understand you the less I understood it was my own self that stood in my way. I should have known much faster. I took away the wrong lessons.
The next paragraphs are less carefully crafted, written more in haste or emotion.
I am so very sorry. I am sorry for treating you the way I did. For talking too much and not listening. For letting my fear hurt you. For mistaking being distant as being uncaring. I have been a fool and I have acted unforgivable. I regret this and I do not deserve forgiveness for it, but I beg you know it is not hatred or a wish to hurt you that led to my actions. It was ignorence, blindness, and my own thoughts on how people act for certain reasons.
I am sorry I offered you the hilt and blade of a weapon and not a hand in friendship. While you may have needed my sharpness, you deserved my kindness much more. You have risked much and I have failed to understand it until too late. I am so sorry.
There is a large splotch of ink here, the pen clearly resting for some time and bleeding in veins across the surface of the letter before the next words begin, partially obscured by the marred paper.
Plea--orgive--id not mean to ov- hear. But I did. I know what you face and even though we are very different, I know you might be heartsick. I was, when I was faced with a very similar choice. If I was a better woman, it would not have taken this to finally open my eyes to all I have done. As it is, I have ruined so much with working for the company, so I am offering this as just a person. I want to help you, however I can. Not as person who works for you but just as me. If I cannot, if you do not wish this or trust me for this, I understand. I do not know if I could do this if I am you. But the offer is true.
Again, the next paragraphs are less careful. Shaky.
I do not know if it is too late and too much after these moons of misunderstanding, but I wish to be not a weapon for you now, if you will allow it. I offer my hand as maybe not a friend, if there is too much hurt for that, but at least as someone who wants to help. Who knows this pain and would help you through it.
If you prefer not to have this, then the other offer, too, stands. I will be a weapon if you need.
((Tagging @miyasukeietada, since this is written ICly for her.))
