Delivery for Amalia Chandrakant


Age: 7 | Height: | Race: Attuned | Nationality: Natural | Citizenship: Hollowed Grounds
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#1

The letter is delivered by a courier in the late evening, given to Amalia at her bed without a word. It is a browned envelope, with only her name on the front in neat, looping handwriting in a blue ink. Attached by a clip is a note in a different pen which reads:

I found this in David's drawer after his death. I do not know of the contents, only that he wished to keep it secret. I don't want to know. -- Maria Wordsworth.

When opened the letter smells of dust and age, it is clearly from a time years ago. It is rambling and almost nonsensical, the writings of a man addled by pride. The words within, which take up two pages, read:

Dear Amalia,

            You are probably lost as to why this letter is being delivered to you; I assume it will only find it's way into your hands after my death. I know I cannot personally take the shame of seeing it's secrets divulged while I live. In these pages you will find that you and I are connected, as much as I might wish it was not the case.
           To reveal the secret first, so that the rest of this letter may be spent explaining how it came to be: I am your father.
            Perhaps you will not believe me at first, but you should consider this news to be a relief; after all you are now in possession of one half of a good parentage. After all, your wretched mother, whom this letter concerns greatly in the rest of it's tale, is not a legacy I imagine you will wish to continue. She came to me many years ago (fifteen, now, as that is your age upon time of my writing), seduced me with her coy words and good figure while my own wife was fat with my own impotent children. We shared a month together; the affair was a mistake through and through and I will not share with you the details, besides the fact that it was during this time you were conceived.
            I made it clear once she knew she had fallen pregnant that I did not care to know the child and she agreed to this notion. I was there for the birth and did not see you for many years after that; your mother kept to our deal. In fact, the only time I have spoken to her since is when she came to my home to {This section has been crossed out. The only legible words are \"injuries\" and \"son\"} push into our family business, which I made swiftly clear was not hers.
          You may wonder, if I hold such disdain for your mother, why I tell you of this now, why I write to you. I must admit I did not see myself doing this either; yet the failures of my children have made me scared for the future of our family. My weak son will hardly be able to take on the position of the family patriarch when the time comes, my daughter was spurned by the Gods upon the second of her birth. With such cursed offspring I have nowhere else to turn but the child I once abandoned.
         Of course, I have no guarantee you shall be an improvement upon the children I already have raised, but a man must dream. I hope the knowledge of your true parentage, delivered to you after my death, may inspire you to reach for new heights and aim to raise yourself higher than Samuel or Evelyn, who must not know of this secret. I will be watching from Mort's realm: your deeds may come under the name Chandrakant, but I shall know they also carry the name Wordsworth, that your hands are half my own. Do well, be powerful. Prove the bloodline to not be tarnished.
         I must reiterate that Samuel nor Evelyn must never know of this, nor my wife Maria; it is a connection between us only. Perhaps it is love from a father to his daughter, my desire to share with you this bond past the grave, this desire to encourage you to achieve your best. I cannot have the scandal escape, I cannot have the people know I associated with such a woman as your mother.

I am counting on you to make me proud, Amalia Wordsworth.
Do not disappoint me. I will be waiting in Mort's realm.

David Wordsworth, your father.
           


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