|Stuffed within the pages of the Blackened Leather Journal of the Easterling, lay a single parchment, it's face was aged and ears rugged long and laudably more so than another other Very few words were etched unto it's skin, and what else once was there was long to time. Prominent it seemed near the fore-front of the journal as if recently reviewed.|
"Yokeda, dearest."
"I am sorry. I cannot fix you. -- This is over. -- Goodbye, my once heart."
Kephtalori.
