Hey Davis, I hope you're well. I have an urgent request. Do you know the hermit from the mountain behind the ravine who comes by sometimes? The strange old fellow, dressed in pelts, that trades amethysts for supplies? He came by again but didn't ask for herbs, spices, or vegetables. The man was pleading for medicine, but we were all out. Even the bag of amethysts he clutched in his wrinkly hands couldn't change that. Once we receive new stock, could you put some tinctures aside for him? Our soldiers take priority, but the old chap was desperate, so let's reserve some when we see him again. Or rather, if we see him again. Such a journey cannot be easy on his old bones.

Another day goes by. The snow tranquilizes the world outside, and my heart feels heavier with every beat. Each new night competes with the last to be the coldest. I wish you were by my side to warm me. Amelie, your chair broke today. I tried to fix it, but my old back protested. Still, I couldn't throw it out, either. It just lays there, shambles of the past with no use but to bring pain at the remembrance. What a rotten day. If you were here, you'd cheer me up. I would find you in the garden by the purple flowers you favored, your hair swaying in the breeze like the petals. You would turn around, and the light in your eyes would fill my dull, slowing heart with brightness. I yearn to remember you only as that lilac whirlwind. To see you when I look at the winter blossoms, not the broken remains of a rickety chair. But it's hard because you're all around. In the good, and the bad. Still, If I could run away with you again, I would. I would always choose you, my little amethyst.

You are in every breath I take, in each tear I cry, and in all my waking dreams.