The Seeker of Answers



The Seeker of Answers.

I write this on parchment, for I am curious to see if Blossom's means to catch her thoughts work as well as they are said to. For she, too, collects many thoughts thereon. Here I shall write as a man torn open to you, o' parchment. 

 

I have come to accept all truths of what is become of my life, and I am content with them. For I shall not war against myself and carry the weight of a weary mind. Yet, I have many questions that I cannot answer, for such cannot be found in my own wisdom. Perhaps in time I shall be wise enough, I cannot say. For the future be ever uncertain and can be much like the weather; harsh without warning and kind without praise. When all of our troubles of late is ended, I shall seek someone who may yield answers to me. One who is queer and unforeseeable, spoken in tale as one who is solved, yet remains a mystery to my eyes. Miss Hornwort she be, infamously known as the Witch of Combe-Way. Some believe that she be capable of witch-craft, others not. I merely believe that she be a cunning old woman whose means to defending herself have simply never called upon the need of a sword, body-guard, or violence. Wit is a weapon sharper than any blade, poison, club, or any other devices that someone would use if they sought to defend themselves.

 

Nevertheless, that be ways ahead that I should not yet focus my thoughts upon. I have other concerns that are laid before me today, and those I shall see the end of ere I seek the ends of my own curiosities.
   I see much of Blossom and Arithem in these men who would seek to harm them, for their means are alike and their threat is as subtle as any that Blossom would offer. I foresee that the ending of this shall be bitter-sweet, yet what ending is not?

Blossom, seeing as you speak of me in your writing I shall speak of you. Yet, unlike you, I shall make the wiser choice and burn this parchment when I am done with it: that is, once I have consumed the knowledge that is laid bare before me. Whilst you have worked in your room, I have read through your books. But worry not, for I have returned them when I learnt what I could. Yet, this is a mistake that I shall not again repeat. They shall remain on the shelves where they belong.
   You spoil me with sweet words of tenderness, yet with or without those words my mind remains as resolved as it was. For I mean to see the end of this, for it is my unspoken duty. I need no persuasion of any sort, if that is what you would offer. Yet, I wholly hold you at guilt for what has been wrought, and that shall remain. Amongst yourself and your brother, I cannot help but to feel as if I am an outsider who seeks the company of wolves: merely following them for a time before I choose to act. Whether or whether not I shall be bitten is yet to be seen.

Now, my parchment. My many words have sunken into you, secrets that I trust with you alone. Now I must surrender you to fire!