Dear Gwenhwyfar,
Always have I been the angry young man with a sword in his hand, quick to judge and untempered by the feelings that most men take for granted. Never have I turned my head to a woman, nor has it ever been my intention to take a mate. None the less, the day you sat and comforted me in the holy place over the loss of Twilights Order, you began to speak of love. I fled.
At that moment and not before, I was aware that my feelings for your were no longer merely an intelectual admiration for a respected aquaintance as we have called it. Now I stand in the curious position of trying to combine compassion for you with my own plans of immortality (as an undead), and other long term plans which all prudence prohibits me from posting here. Also, I have the monumental task of learning to satisfy you as a woman. Never will I compare to the passion that your ex-fiancee was able to shower you with. If you are patient with me, I am willing to learn that which is my potential.

In the confusion of these new emotions, the loss of Twilights guidance, the longing for the unlife, service to Lord Sartan as His Guild Master, and the fantastic improbability of combining it all into one life, I have composed a lyric. It is neither art nor a love poem. It is merely the fevered ramblings of a man in transition.

As a child I woke to pain in the morning
Blows like a rainstorm on top of an awning
Then I left home
A desert night alone
In the sand, my head on a cold stone.

I burned inside
Put my head to the wall
A mhun captains hand to
A vessel of suffering, cruelty and all

Twilight help me to believe, Ive got the need
Killed by a world full of unchivalrous seed
Dead by the touch of human hand
Unwilling to lose to an honourless man

A tyrant that fills the city full of sadness
Broken limbs fill the body full of badness
I found a need other than the sting of sin
A soft caress to ease the painful rut Im in

She wants me to be a lover
I compare me to another
A bad sacrifice
Under Darknes cover

She says put that fear inside of me
I consider life, and wish to cease to be
Life is like that, life is like this
Now I know not what it is

Sartan has let me see
What it is to be free
How the world is becoming
A church conspiracy

War, in you I believe
How Achaea has changed!
If war happens enough
Does it stay the same?

If death happens over and over again
Will I cease to feel all the pain Im in?
Will I cease to feel? Will I cease to believe?
Will I need nothing more than the air that I breathe?

Why waste breathing on a living death?
Why even bother with another breath?
Why breathe, why care, why even try to feel?
What follows at deaths heal?

I curse myself with all the suffering,
Cruelty and meanness
My eyes are filled to full to see
That this could be life...
A job and a wife

Is it freedom to choose what is not a choice?
Is it freedom to silence that tiny voice?
Is it freedom to behold old beliefs?
Or do I choose to live a life full of grief?

I can not choose what I can not believe
That the way of life is to live and breathe
I see living as a job to be done
and my future a place for the dead Ill become

To combine
To forge a middle path
Combining a mate and the unlife
A destiny of contrast

-the Sinistar

Penned by my hand on the 19th of Scarlatan, in the year 231 AF.