secretary_s_final_missive [Fated]

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====== Malorie's Missive ======

//The writing on the letter is slanted and messy as if written in a rush. Some of the letters barely seem to match the ones before and after them, cursive stopping and starting strangely.//

Dear Electors, 

All is well. Everyone is safe. Nobody needs to worry. There is little to report and for once I get to be the bearer of good news!

Today is turning out to be a good day for an election, if I was a betting woman I would bet all my worldly possessions on the vote being today. I hope you’re all prepared, I hope you’re excited to do what is right.

Anxious friends, reflect, act intelligently - dutifully. How proud I am of everyone! Here everyone listened perfectly. We all know what we need to do. 

Yours in service, for the last time, 

Malorie

====== Other Notices ======

==== A Notice====

//A slightly tattered piece of paper bears a message for the electors. The words are written with a scrawling hand, clearly unused to putting words to paper. Smudges of ink cover the page, smears as if the pen fell out of the hands of whoever was writing. Repeatedly.// 

Fate can be cruel. It wields power over people, deciding what should happen with no care for the people it affects. It leaves you alone, screaming over something you cannot control. It leaves you alone, ignored by those it favours. Some are blessed. Some of us are cursed.

I know this. Most of you know this. Why does it have to be this way? Does it have to be this way at all?

These are not questions that I have the answers to. Not yet. Someone has to remain. Someone has to take on the role of Fate. You can all go home. You can be free. Let me take this burden. Let me release you from here. Let me change it, make it better.

Simeon Ravenheart was fated to die. To die for love. We all know this. I made a promise, one that I was unable to keep. I made a promise to a man that I was not sure even deserved it. I made a promise to a man that loved strongly enough to die. I made a promise, and now I extend that promise to you all. 

I will make it right. I will change the fates of those who desire it, I will save you from the pain that is yet to come. I will not condemn the future to the pain we suffer.

I will not be cruel. I will wield power, as is the way of Fate, but I will care. You will not be alone. No one will be alone. No one will be ignored. I have had enough of curses and pain. Let me help you all. Let me send you home.

//The bottom of the page is torn, the paper ripped between words. The tear is not clean. Words can be picked out from the smudged ink, the stains hiding what lies beneath.// 

//“---- don’t want ----”// 
//“Remember me.”//
//“don’t ---- disappear, please ----”//

//There is no name attached.//

==== A Notebook Page ====

Fellow Electors,

Our time here appears to, one way or the other, be coming to a close. In times of turmoil like these, unrest is understandable, but I urge that we stay calm. I believe we are about to come to a very important decision, perhaps not just to elect a new Fate, but to decide whether there will be a new Fate at all. Such a monumental decision should not be made in panic.

I will not deny that the anonymous manifesto posted here a few days ago comes from a point of truth. For many people, fate is a horrifying and unavoidable pain, but yet for many others it is a certain joy. For every person that could be helped by killing fate, should such an act be possible, another will be harmed.

Change is likely necessary, but I have no reason to believe such a drastic measure to be a miracle solution. Injustice is a creation of humanity as much as it is of fate, and without fate it may grow to become worse than what we've all come to know.

Regardless, I wish everyone as much safety as is possible in these times, and good luck in the election,

- Taekol

====A Letter====
To those esteemed many whom have made my time here tolerable,

I would like to thank you all for abiding by my awkward manners and lack of tact. I am not a man who was raised politely; nor am I a man whose heart beats in time with the iron constraints of our long-languish'd system of blood and land and writ. I am a man who grew up quite unremarkably, and, in turn, became someone remarkable. But never before have I been endowed with a room full of people whom, in equity, are more remarkable than all of you. Your many minds are equisite and different from my own. But your voices, united, though distinct, are powerful. Your story is vital. What happened here cannot go forgotten. I ask only that you remember eachother. And, remember yourselves. Your story is written. But I beg of you to wrest yourself a pen, and endure to keep on writing.

To The Palace,

I am sorry.

//The bottom of the pamphlet is stained in still-shimmering silver.//

====Fate Archives Note====

Investigating the Fate Archives produced some revelations. These were obtained only in fragments, the rest of the pages burnt away. They were surrounded by indigo thread. Where there was thread, the patterns of burns on the table were stronger, more pronounced. 

I am not sure this is enough information to destroy the contracts. I am truly sorry. Yet do not forgive me - for it is not my greatest failure this day. The following is sourced from the notebooks of our Lady Fate the Weaver herself - and her plan to raze it all. 

Perhaps I'll sing her praises. As I shall for many of you here. Diolch. 


//…like all contracts, there are loopholes. I fear my bravery is becoming stupidity but this must stop. Can I starve it? Can I exhaust it? There’s no physical contract and fire didn’t work. I need to try again.//

… 

//The Palace is alive, and therefore killable. The contracts we make feed it. So is it possible to starve it? How would I go about this? The other staff members…//

…

//The Palace is powerful, but I’m powerful too. I do not enjoy being Fate but the power it has given me, I can use the magic to write its own death. I don’t want to do this alone but…… //

…

//I need to do this, I’m prepared to die trying.//


Attached below is a small note. The handwriting is beautiful, ornately wrought - and rendered in blood.

Duty

‘Where did my parents go?’
They've gone away, child, 
I'm sorry - Fate slew them.
They, the Palace’s ‘foe’.

Duty was done. Blood did run.
The choice was ours alone.

We all have a choice. I realised this too late - but there is yet time for some.