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TO FELIX GALLAGHER OF BALLONLEA

The missive arrives delivered by Spectrier, nightmarish hoofbeats announcing the arrival of BARNABY FINCH. The letter itself smells faintly of jasmine, a perfume that the woman who sent it had begun to favor when you last knew her in Hoenn. It is not the only thing that has changed about her, although her penmanship remains an immaculate, pristine thing to behold.[break][break]

I trust this letter finds you alive and well, Felix. You don't seem the sort to perish easily.[break][break]

I suppose some part of you is desperate to know of my safety, but rest assured: I am the most powerful creature in Motostoke. If anyone is to be harmed, it will decidedly not be me. You should be grateful to my Divine patronage, for looking to my care so thoroughly.[break][break]

In this world where monsters assault our settlements at every waking moment, where war is a constant and peace a brief gasp of reprieve, I imagine you likewise thrive.[break][break]

Do you miss the times of peace, I wonder? I suspect that you don't. When men are made into weapons, when they are taught to revel in the adrenaline rush of hunting their fellow men for sport, there is a bloodlust that pacifism cannot quench.[break][break]

But then again, maybe I misread you. Maybe you prefer playing the role of hero over soldier.[break][break]

We aren't tied to our old lives anymore. Fate's little joke on us has ensured it.[break][break]

Motostoke, by the by, is an abominable city of machines and mediocrity. Its populace has elected Caleb Harcourt and Isaac Merlo to be its kings, and if nothing else, they are a testament to the judgment these pea-brained imbeciles possess. It maddens and rankles, to be surrounded by Galarian beings of lesser intelligence.[break][break]

How I long for the late nights of discussion in the Rocket headquarters, planning to be the ones to lay siege elsewhere. Being besieged is decidedly suboptimal. How easily I can imagine your brow furrowing in disagreement, your expression darkening at hearing such blasphemy from my lips. But ah, I do miss it. I miss the life you didn't want me to live, and I miss it terribly.[break][break]

For now, I wake. I defend. I eat. I sleep. I entertain myself with boring, dull games with boring, dull people. I mourn my freedom most bitterly, and watch Bee with undisguised envy every time he is able to depart our hateful city. Only to greet him with what little fondness I still possess upon his return.[break][break]

What life do you live now? Are you contented at last, I wonder? What is it you miss, if anything, from the world we knew before?[break][break]

Write to me, if the thought so pleases you. In this dark age, there is little else to do. I fear I will forget what once was, if words on paper do not remind me.[break][break]

So remind me of whatever you believe is worth remembering. Entertain me with what stories are worth telling. I am here, I am listening, and I am so incredibly, devastatingly bored.[break][break]

Fondly,[break]
Elisabeth, the Witch of Motostoke[break][break]

PS: Bee insists I tell you I was married. It lasted about ten days, so I don't see what the fuss is all about. No one seems as interested in having me disclose his funeral, which was far more enjoyable for me to attend.

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