Work Text:
[A sheet of paper lays atop an extinguished fire, most of its content burned, only the end of it remains legible now. Whoever wrote this wanted to ensure its secrecy]
Lastly, I must bring her behaviour to your attention. Ever since the mark of Caesar was bestowed upon her, that woman has done away with any respect of our ways. She knowingly toes the line while she tugs at my nerves, uncaring that they might snap. I would not lie to you and pretend that she is not useful, she is most and her hold on the desert grows steadily. But her usefulness blinds even my Caesar, he has chosen to disregard any complaint with a mere wave. Such blindness would not reach you, you whose eyes rest upon all of us.
Surely you see how this woman tempts and torments me every day. To be swayed by a profligate shames me greatly, but it is a reality I cannot ignore. She feigns ignorance each time, but I know her hands linger too long upon me. She seeks my person with each of her visits, prying me from my duties only to push me into long conversations. Her presence around the camp has become such an irritating constant that my eyes cannot help but seek her form across her crowd, nor can my mind stop longing for our usual conversations.
It seems that this torment does not suffice her any longer as she has now chosen to invade my very own sleep, wriggling her way into each dream, a feeling lingering even when I wake.
They were innocent at the beginning, mundane events bleeding into the subconscious, but they soon grew into sinful nightmare. The restraint and purity demanded from someone of my stature stripped from me. I have tried all of the rituals taught to me in my youth, but neither meditation nor restraint were successful. These dreams remain vivid even as I write to you and as I speak to her.
Our conversations blur in the back of my mind as I find myself incapable of ripping myself off those false memories. The hands that lingers on my back remind me of the one that travelled my spine, each finger burning across it. The hands that have wrought such death across the wastes, calloused and cut, held my own wrists as if they could break from the slightest movement. As if I could possibly break from it. Our conversation dries in the pit of my throat against which her lips had waged war. The eyes that settles on mine carry the same hunger they did before our lips met. The teachings of the Legion and the truth of Mars slips from my grasp, as if she had wrangled them from my own mind.
Therefore Mars, My Lord and Father of Caesar, I beg of you, grant me the strength to tear myself from this bind of madness. May your eyes rest upon me as I cross this trial.
A faint smile settled across the Courier’s lips as she read what remained of the letter before carefully tucking it back inside her coat’s pocket.