How can one judge the gnat which flies too close to the flame? For who could resist the glorious and splendorous temptation which comes with such a forbidden desire? Do we, us men who consider ourselves to be wholly above the nature of this world, not also become enamoured with that which Is unattainable to us, to that which is the anathema to a comfortable and stable life?

My god Isabella, my heart burns for you. The lavender essence which you included in your last letter was so all consuming, it seems impossible to me that I could have ever imagined you to wear any other fragrance. The subtle earthiness of the scent and the lilting flowery notions are reminiscent of an evening spent spirited away on the hilltops near my home at Fort Siess, under the shade of trees which shield lovers from the midnight gazes of prying eyes, stealing kisses under the moonlight.

How I wish I could take you to one of those secret lover’s peaks, I look out upon them now in my mind as I write this, and they seem wholly inadequate without your presence. They are lonely without us and, bathed in the dying glows of the evening sun, I can imagine the softness of the grass as we roll in it together. Laughing and telling stories till the sun falls and rises again. God, we would flip the garrison into a frenzy looking for us, our parents incensed at the brazenness of our affection. They would chide us, scold us and lock us away and then, the next night, I would be there again, suspended from your windowsill, roguish grin alight on my face, tempting you out for another clandestine, romantic, night on our hilltop.

God how I hate this war. I beseech Io each sunrise and sunset for a quick and timely end to this barrier between us, this foil to our lives together. Damn those Counts and damn their inane crusade. The more I speak with you the more I am left at a disadvantage for how any man could choose war when life and love are so much sweeter. My dear you have added a rose tinting to my view of life, it seems now as if the world turns only for the two of us, the rest of it being secondary and unimportant.

My father wishes to force an engagement with Siam’Siak’s fifth legion, a decisive victory he calls it when extolling its tactical merits to his officer’s. I know not why he does so, his is the final decision in the matter, but never mind that. He wants me to ride in the centre with him, swinging my sword against the servants of the night like a swaggering buck. I imagine he wants for me to follow in his footsteps, a path trodden by brutes and xenophobes. Needless to say I am adverse; I see no way but to acquiesce however and so I will require your prayers in the coming weeks my love, for I will need both strength in arm and heart to endure the battle I fear is on the horizon and to triumph over this sea of warmongers which I find myself submerged in.

Eternally yours, Sir Roland Himelbach.

Note: In regard to the cure for your sister’s ailment I have been working on finding a solution. I have reached out to several of Io’s mages, but the going is slow. They all seem to assume my curiosity is based around destruction, not cure. Brutes to the last man. Regardless I shall continue in this endeavour and will not rest until a cure is found. Until we meet again my loving Isabella.