To Father,
I know we didn't part on good terms. And you know I'm bad with words.
So, how to start...?
...When I look at the sky, I recall how you taught me to glide. Remember how I was so scared to jump, to drop down the ledge of the harbor? You were there. You held my hand. Guided my strike when I hammered my first iron, sparks flying. You never wavered.
...I didn't mean to raze your forge down. I was angry. Livid. I have my mother's temperament, as you always say. I'm sending new Smithing Tools. They work like a charm. Because...
I wanted to apologi— ...No.
You'll always be my fath— No...
Oh, I don't know. Forget it.
We both know I'm not good at goodbyes. A true Anders at heart, like mother. So, how to end...?
Well. Goodbye.
— Rochelle
