The letter of Amel

Dearest Albion,

The news that I have received as of late, including that state of yours, has been concerning me as well as your daughter.

Taking care of her may not tire me out, however for as long as you said, it is a challenge that I do not wish to face. I refuse to face much longer, it is a hassle, and she is a beast of a girl.

Not worth taking care of, she lashes out, she bites, even when long out of that age. Long no longer a teething newborn.

What you must do is shoulder your responsibility and take her alongside you to your new stay. Even if your mistress may not allow, I have a right to demand so.

Nearly burned by your decisions, I do not want you to do the same to her. Return safely without the curse hanging over your head.
I expect you to return by the latest of the third moon of the rising year.

-Amel.

And so, the Letter was set down, discarded on the stone, read through by the man who once called her his wife. A sad sight it was, the last thing she had written, yet he still did not hesitate.

Swiftly without another word, he had returned, leaving behind the lady he had left for. And standing in front of the doors was when he saw her, hanging damp and red, soaked by the crimson of her own.

The girl, stood next to her, was smiling up, the fangs ever red.

Now he turned towards the second stone, memory left at the first.

The one of the girls he so cared for, his daughter as he called her, being a wretched monster, he put end too. No choice, he had to have done it.