Tengwar script, written in an embarrassingly sloppy hand sprawls crudely over a sheet of fine pale parchment, embossed along the top and bottom margins with what appear to be vines of roses. The stationary is expensive, yet used with little care, and splotched in some places with dried puddles of ink and something red.
My dearest L Dear Old Friend,
I fear I have become a slave to avarice. It is the only name I dare give this gnawing desire in the pit of my stomach. Every breath I take—for want of more. Each day I feel my greed consume another part of me. It is like a great beast, devouring me as I long to devour that which lays within my sights. A bottomless hunger. An unquenchable thirst.
No stack of gold can satisfy my needs. Perhaps, long ago, but no longer. I crave to fill myself with more than gold these days.
I drink wine by the cask these days. Forgive my handwriting. I never could handle my drink. And yet here I am, filling another glass to the brim, though I know I will never be so full as it.
Goblets truly are lucky. Filled and drained and filled again with cold-burning delectable red. They never truly run dry…
In truth, I’ve always found white more decadent.
This cupidity which fills me leaves me all the more voracious, the fuller I get. There are far better things to be filled by than profit. Better things to imbibe than wine.
Helbes says I should put down my quill, but if I drop it I fear I won’t be able to pick it back up.
I miss you more than I can bear.
Image made by Landrem's player with Måns Björkman's Eldamar font.
