I’m so, so, so sorry.
I stayed behind, just to make sure that the deal with the good doctor didn’t fall through. Who knows what I would do if it did. My heart tore to pisces listening to your cries.
I wish I could tell you the whole truth, but I know you would never believe me. If you did, it would hurt you far more than any sort of lie I could make up.
Performances and half truths are all I have, now.
But there is always worth in a confession, even if this never reaches you. I can never let your father know what I did behind their back, no evidence of my interference can remain. I’ll tear and scatter this letter, so that the truth remains covered in darkness.
I’m not your father, never was. Really, I didn’t know you or your siblings until a few weeks ago, when I had found a mausoleum with your likenesses engraved into the lids.
When I met you, Gami, I saw your death. It was crawling on its belly, bloodied and broken, weeping, crying for help. It was so close, too close to someone so young like you.
I simply couldn’t stand aside. I’ve decided to intervene, even if I risked the chance of hurting you even more.
I wish I could find other words, kinder words to push you away. But cutting off always hurt, doesn’t it?
If there is one thing I could tell you, then it is to live. Live, not for my sake, but for yours.
I hope I haven’t simply led you down to a quicker end.