Another Letter Found Titled : Confessions of A Tortured Soul

Amstat, don't just sit over there sippping your lime-laced water ever so gracefully. Can't you open your goddamn eyes and see that the room is a tad too bright for my liking? Please go and extinguish all the candles. They are hurting my eyes. Light, the bane of darkness. Casts too much light on everything and you see the horrors and foibles of humankind.

Ah that's better my dear fellow. Thank you so very much. And for that, you deserve to get yourself a glass of bourbon from the shelf over there. Please help yourself.

You know Amstat, I dislike humans. They have too much foibles for my liking. Too many weaknesses and too little strengths. What do they know of the Wheel? And the Wyrd? Or even the Traditions for that matter? They focus on all the little minutae things that are of no importance to them. Whenever I see them, Rage enslaves me in chains and robs me of my sanity. I would thus go mad if it were not for Sorrow. The only constant in this wrecked world.

I am getting weak. Yes. Apparently I have too much contact with this weak race. And I suspect that their foibles have passed on to me. The dream had plagued me again, giving me no quarter. Muse herself has fleed from me, abandoning me. And it is all too true, too true. I am sinking deeper into quicksand, with no idea of how to pull myself out.

I no longer can keep a distance. No longer can I afford to be aloof. I do not want to break the rules Amstat, but you give me counsel, what should I do?