Well now, after leaving this for over a year, I think it's time to finally bring this puppy home.
<div style="text-align:center">Stage 5-Acceptance</div>
I woke up...Ishtar alone knows how long later. I noticed my wallet missing, not that it mattered much. I had spare money tucked away in my clothing. Speaking of which, I reeked, my clothes were dirty, even my beret was a mixture of brown, blue, and red. I staggered to my feet, on my way to the next bar-sleeping at home was just too painful anymore-determined that I'd get my next liver-destroying bottle.
I did. And several more after that. And after another good day of drinking, destroying my liver and brain cells, and getting quite a bit more drunk, I went home. I'll never know why, to my dying day. But I did, and I looked at the empty bed that used to have Ishtar in it.
That day, hungry, drunk, and dishevelled, I spent crying.
The next day, though, I cleaned up a bit. I changed my clothing. I even shaved. Not that it mattered at all...my real plan was to write a letter. A letter to my sister. It was just a way to try and reach out for her, maybe, but it would make me feel better. I just grabbed a scrap of paper and started scritching something out with a quill pen.
Your brother...Your brother misses you very much. He cries every day. I wish you hadn't had to die. Dear Ishtar, I wish you hadn't had to die. Wait for me in heaven, Shira, if what I did to save you doesn't land me in hell. I will make amends to those people, if at all possible. And...I will apologize to Jal as well. He only tried to help. Shira, I miss you so much. You were...you were my light in life. My only family left.
Wait for me. I'll find you, even if I have to fight Hell itself to do it. Just not yet. I need to repair what I've done in life first.
Your brother, Tolaris Kasin
After I wrote it, I lit a candle, and set the letter on fire. If a prayer can be heard on the wind, then surely a letter can be seen through judgemental fires. And with that, I put on my nice, clean clothes, and walked to a bar. Not to get utterly stinking drunk this time. Just tipsy. I...still couldn't bear her loss. But the letter helped me stop being completely depressed.
I went into a new one in town, called the Battling Ass, and sat down next to an attractive woman in a black trenchcoat. "I'm Tolaris. You?"
"Karin Vaza." Was the curt answer I received. And that was the start of something that helped the healing process along... <p>
<div style="text-align:center">Proud NaNoWriMo-er, and sick, sick photoshop user! =D</div></p>