World of Warcraft®

[[ Every once in a blue moon my character does something... she apologizes. The universe seems to shift about whenever she does so, incidents that could be linked to this monumental event include (but are certainly not limited to): the melting of the Ice Stone, Arthas going mad, the melting of the second Ice Stone, Yogg-Saron escaping and Deathwing going loco.

It was actually a fun experience writing something that's so hard for her to do. Hopefully peeps will enjoy it to. ]]

She had to remind herself.

She was a brave soldier of the Horde. A seasoned and well respected veteran in the fight in Northrend, connoisseur in both defensive and healing maneuvers. She had experienced the most wicked villains this Azeroth had yet to produce and she had survived them all. From the fallen prince of Lordaeron who had risen as the Lich King to the old god breaking free from Ulduar; she had played part, albeit small, in their downfall.

"Show them no fear," her fel green eyes closed as she whispered to herself.

But there was one thing that sent the chill of fear down her spine unlike any other...the empty piece of parchment sitting on the desk before her.

"Its... It's long overdue Kylea." The knight whispered as she took the quill in hand. The quill's gentle scratching filled the room as she began writing one of the most difficult letters she had ever written. An apology.

You may think I'm writing this on her behalf or that she pressured me to pen these words. Nothing further from the truth, though I have her blessing I'm doing this on my own. Why? Because I've held on to this childish hatred for too long, but above all, because you deserve an apology.

She set the quill down, the emerald green orbs narrowing as she read her first words.

Bells can serve as witness that it takes time for me to admit my wrongs and even more time to find the courage to actually speak up. But the one redeeming quality I do possess in all of this is that, eventually, I do own up to what I did.

I won't blame my actions against you on anything or anyone other than myself. I said those words, I acted that way. And while explaining will never make the past right, perhaps it can help you understand exactly why I did what I did. I allowed myself to be ruled solely by the insecurities that had plagued my youth. I allowed fear to blind me and rob me of what little sanity I still clung to.

Then I opened my mouth. And that's when it began, a competition of sorts to see who could say or do the most harm. I should have stopped, just pulled back and forced myself to catch a different glimpse of the whole thing. But once again I let fear control me, acting in a way that makes my daughter seem fit for warchief.

I could sit and name every single petty thing that fell from my lips, along with those times that I resorted to attacks, but I don't think there's enough parchments in Silvermoon for me to write them all. Just know that I'm truly sorry for having acted the way I did.

Sincerely,
Kylea Kalico Boldvalor

She glanced at the large box beside the parchment.

PS- I've added a specimen of Arthas' Tears, I think it would look wonderful on the wedding bouquet.

And with that she sealed the parchment, turning it to write its destination on top.

The Frostleafs

The rogue moved to pick up the recently-crawling infant from the wooden floor in the moderately-priced Orgrimmar home. Turning the infant to face her, she smiled wide, settling the girl upon her hip.

"Zha-Zha, ready for a bath?" She inquired brightly as a knock interrupted their one-sided conversation. Not far from the door, Molly opened it. There stood a plainly dressed elven woman, grasping a sealed envelope in her hands.

"Message for you miss," she spoke as her hand extended the fine stationery toward the half-elf.

"Is it urgent," she inquired taking the letter into her chapped hands. The delivery woman shook her head, "No, ma'am." Molly brought the infant up slightly before she squirmed too far from her hip as she nodded. "Thank you. Have a good one." Reciprocating the nod, she turned on her heel and left the family's porch.

As she closed the door too harshly with her foot, she made her way toward the lit dining room, setting the letter upon the table. Moving the infant to sit in her lap, she had freed both hands to open the letter. Unfolding the fine parchment, the fragrant purple flower fell onto the table.

Molly's hand held the infant in place as she read through the letter, tongue licking over her stained lips. She had seen the writing before, but couldn't place it until her eyes skimmed to the bottom.

"Sincerely, Kylea Kalico Boldvalor," she murmured softly, taken back by slight surprise. Her eyes found the head of the letter to read once more, taking each word in.

"Zadari," she called aloud, waiting for the patter of her daughter's footsteps. After a few moments, she called again, "Zadari Jane!" The middle name always seemed to work in summoning any child as the school-age girl came trotting down the stairs, "Momma?"

Molly smiled, pressing a kiss to her forehead, "Can you watch Tel'zhara for me? I need to write someone." The girl nodded, taking her baby half-sister from her mother's lap awkwardly. Holding her head and bottom just like Molly had taught her many, many times, she brought her to the living room floor.

Turning around in her chair, she struggled to reach a drawer right beside the table. Finding her laziness had failed her, she stood to open the drawer withdrawing a parchment, a goblin-engineered writing utensil, and an envelope before retaking her seat.

Dear Kylea, she began, the utensil malfunctioning as a splotch of ink ejected from the tip, splurting on the edge of the paper and table. "Seriously," she both sighed and inquired of the inanimate object. Adjusting the settings on the side, she began again.

Thank you for the heartfelt letter. I'll not keep you with several promulgations, but I feel that I should say something more than a mere 'thanks'.

You're a stubborn woman, and while people may find it frustrating, it's also an asset. You don't fall for everyone's words and you seek to strengthen your sense of self. Within that search, I feel that perhaps this moment had been building up. You're not a woman who is to be forced into what she doesn't want to do unless it's a life or death situation.

The easiest thing that can be said was that perhaps were I in your position, I may have reacted just as so. I think we all got carried away and simply decided it wasn't worth the effort. If any of the recent events have taught me anything, it's how wrong that mentality is.

I know this seems like I'm just buttering you up, but I think addressing your personality and the situation is valid. But I digress.

Every day that passes is a fresh day without mistakes. This is a new day for all of us without grudge and freedom to pursue new allies and friendships.

I appreciate you opening that door. Light bless.

With Regards,
Molly Sangria Bloodsong-Frostleaf

PS: The flower is beautiful. I'll have to inquire of the florist to find good accent flowers to go with them.

Setting the utensil upon the table, she leaned back into the chair, calling out, "Tabit! Come here and read and respond to this."

Tabit made his way down the stairs as he heard his name called, pausing as he passed in front of a mirror in the hallway and offering up a rather annoyed sigh. The children had decided to use him as a toy in their play-making and fallen upon him in his sleep and braided his hair in random fashions, leaving the hunter looking like he had just gotten into a fight with the goblin hairstylist and lost horribly.

Without bothering to try and fix the... war zone that was on his head; Tabit moved into the dinning room and stood next to the seated redhead before reading over both letters.

As he read them the troll reached for the writing utensil and fumbled with it before jolting down a few words just beneath those written by his other half.

I'm not the most capable person when it comes to words but this is what I will say: What was done is done and what was said was said. The past is the past, let the Bronze worry about it.

T. Frostleaf

As he finished his short, little blurb he reached for the envelope and after waiting a second for a sign he could proceed the hunter slipped the parchment inside it and sealed the envelope before heading outside to drop it in the mailbox near their abode.