The Treali Storm Letters-Letter Number Ten

The Treali Storm Letters were a series of 15 or 16 letters written by Treali Storm in her own handwriting using an old fashioned fountain pen. Her handwriting resembles that of Thomas Jefferson, though a bit more flowery. Due to her background, which I will not go into in any great detail here, her first language is Arabic, and Latin her second. English is her third, learned in school, all from the Bible and Shakespeare, which significantly influences her style. She never learned much conversational English and is unfamiliar with any sort of 'slang' terms from any period.

 With this particular letter, the tenth sequentially and chronologically, Treali wrote it as a desperate plea to her childhood best friend, her cousin Jai Qelah Asa, whose address Treali had kept. However, being out of contact with the outside world from 1975-2013, Treali was unware that in 1997, Jai had been sentenced to life in prison for various charges related to treason, so the letter was received by her husband, criminology professor Dr. Louis Aimee, who forwarded it to the prison. It was opened for contraband, and finding none, given to the prisoner. Treali had expected Jai to understand her rather cryptic message, but not understanding any of it, Jai simply handed the letter over to the FBI.

Okay, now that the background is done with, here's the letter:
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The Third Day of August in the Year 1999

To the Saint;

           

From your most old and dear friend, the late lamented Y l'ann'e Sorrows, who of late perished in the blazing inferno of anger and blinding rage, a recipe for disastrous consequences; she who has left behind death, fate, and too many sorrows. May the Lord always smile upon you-as He never has on me-and has neglected to do so in the past. I send blessings of peace and faith, and hope in my heart this letter finds you well and joyful in your heart.

 

            As the sun so heavy falls each evening, so is my heart heavy with sorrow and fear and longing for what I have left behind long ago. Send my love and blessings to the Prince, he who is far away. Take no heed of his acceptance or decline of it for love is a strange thing, not to be driven nor hampered by our wills alone; for men have killed and died for love and endured brutal, excruciating agony and punishment for it, leaving only whispers of the secret desires that consume their very souls like fire from within.

 

            Your sister, who is I, sends her greetings in the midst of the Tempest. I write to you as you bear the last dying embers that carry my hopes and dreams for all the past and for the future ever approaching us. We stand at the threshold of a new beginning. We must dare to hope even as the integral darkness of the times surrounds us and envelopes us within it. We must be the light to engender desire for hope, and truth, and perhaps even redemption. As to the man who lusts for gold, his treasures shall become as dust and the dead are dead alike, with only their legacies and memories to be left of them. But those who seek higher things they shall become as those enlightened with hope and faith, akin to those who are of the ancient and undying faith of the People of the Book, with newfound wisdom and beauty streaming in waves of light from within.

 

            I write as the eve of my long-awaited, forever anticipated death draws near-it approaches us-ever imminent, ever inevitable. Help me, O Saint, for so long my only sustenance, O Breath of Life, you who preserve my memory, you are my last hope upon this Earth, full of those who shun my name, who desire to see my head on a stake. Alas! The hour draws near, so near, too near, when we shall part for eternity, when I pass from the bright Elysian fields of day through the Gate separating those living from those dead, and I myself swim in the black waters of the Lethe, through the unspeakable darkness of the Styx, and set my eyes upon the Eridanus for the first and last time, to be perpetually ingrained in the water there, my legacy must remain untainted so that what I have learned is not forgotten. Indeed, the knowledge and wisdom I have attained through torturous meditation and freedom of thought must not fade away-this is the worst of times, truly, that we live in, and the world shall turn to any who hold a candle-even falsely! And so I implore you-do not forget me forever. I wait at the silent stormy isle and remain forever yours.

 

Your unfaithful friend,

Treali Storm, She Who Stands at the Gates