Hello beloved,

Forgive the length of time between our correspondence, and the length of this letter, as I know this one will be long. I am in one of those thinking moods, one where I ponder an idea until the candle burns from tip to base. It is an old habit of mine, from the days where the Spade was on my shield. Night is the time for plotting, for deep thoughts until the sun rises again.

Love is different in the North. Not wrong…I do want to be clear. Love from one’s heart cannot be wrong if it comes with good intentions, much like if one prefers a strawberry tart over a chocolate truffle. How one loves is as vast as the muse for that courtship: It is as unique as the fingerprints of the two hands that hold it. But I want to recount some thoughts of love that I have seen in this past weeks.

First is the love of Helga of Crowza. I enjoyed our chat: She was wise and wore her wisdom as wonderfully as one might done with Capacione’s most fashionable hat – Anyone could see it was of high caliber. I would have spoken many many more hours about her history, but the inquisition interrupted us (Do not get me STARTED on them). She recounted to me how she had not just one love of her life, but several. One of her husbands, she told me, was a coward who ran away from a battle. And, obviously she told me, if one runs from battle it could not be true love.

That idea clung to me like mud on boots as I grabbed by sword and prepared for battle: When one loves it is an act of trust to another. You love what you have seen of them, both their ideas, their wisdom, their beauty, or their truth. When that love is shattered…Was your love wrong?

Or perhaps was the person you loved purely an illusion cobbled with lies that even they did not realize? Did you love the mask the person donned with words and actions and when they dropped the disguise who was at fault? The deceiver, or the one who fell into a trap?

The next day I went back to her (As heroines do in fairytales) and she told me of another husband who died in battle. And while she carried that love to this day through her children and her history, she found another to spend her days with. That love must have been true as well: While a Knight such as myself will only have one great and honest love (as my target of love is as honed as the blade I wield) it cannot be wrong to love many. Not if each love you have is as pure and real and compassionate as mine is for you.

Now, hear me now. If you were to die I would dash myself into the nearest battle and die with you in my thoughts as I removed as many foes as possible for my Brother…But I do not wish that for all. That is not the way their heart is crafted. There are many tales of love in the bookshelves in House Delacroix: And not all of them are like mine nor Helga of Crowza.

I am no poet, you can find many more fluent in the art of essay and poetry in Capacione. But hear me now: I do think there is nothing stronger than Love: Love is what is the foundation of all. Take this last large battle against the corrupt Inquisition: The love of the people of Runeheim is what protect their homestead. Love for my Lady is what holds my shield high when the axes of the enemies crash down upon it. Love is what binds my brother and I across boundless roads and will get us through the turmoil that is starting to brew underneath the floorboards under our positions (That I will not share with you darling, you do not need to know nor do I wish to burden you with more secrets).

I am babbling, you know how I get when I start to think too deeply about this sheer force of power that binds and connects people. And while I did list all those examples of Love…Recognize that you, my Beloved, are my muse and my strength. You will be my only until I die.

And I pray that, when I do return to Capacione, I see you first. If news from the estate is true and my family’s plans are accelerating, I will prove that devotion to you in the only way possible. I am not Helga of Crowza: I am Lorelei, the Knight of Hearts of House Jokeri. You will always be my greatest Love, and I refuse to have another.