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Summary
In his most desperate of times, Aemond pens letters to an unnamed person. Letters full of bitter resentment, anger and confusion. Letters written with such force, the paper was ripped. Yet among those letters, there were ones written with such vulnerability, of his defeated acceptance, of love, yearning and regret. For they were letters that would never reach their intended. Of letters that never left the locked box beneath his ratty old bed.