Feoswyth

Arifled found the letter a week after her mother's burial. She waited another week to break the seal, and another to open it up. By the time a month had passed, she was prepared to read the harried scrawl of a woman better suited for battle than for books. It read:

My dearest Arri,
There are many kinds of people in life. There are those who begin stories, those who end them. But perhaps the most important are those effected in between. Such is the tale of how I found you…
Once upon a time, there lived a man with one blind eye and three missing fingers on his left hand. I wish that I could tell you his name, or perhaps where he was from, but alas those are mysteries that even I lack the artistry to unravel, and yet I can tell you that he did indeed live. He was tall, with sun kissed hair, and the eye that still possessed its sight was a rich chocolate brown. A traveler, by the reckoning of most he came across. He had a laugh that made others smile, and a twinkle in his eye that managed to deter any questions directed his way. If there is anything to be known about this man it is that he was a traveler. Not a merchant, nor a soldier—although one cannot discount such professions entirely—but regardless of what he may have been, when he came to Laketown he was none other than a stranger. 
Charismatic and seemingly good of heart, this man quickly assimilated into the close knit fishing village. He caught the eye of a basketweaver’s daughter, and in turn he ensnared her heart. Perhaps if they had not been so blinded by love, his conscience would have caught up with him. Perhaps she would’ve asked the right questions. Yet, heavy though may heart might be in the telling of this story, the lass was careless in her youth, and the man naive to think his past was behind him. 
They married quickly, eagerly settling into a home of their own, and within the year the basketweaver’s daughter bore a daughter of her own. I do not know what they named her. It is impossible for me to ask, by now. But, despite my ignorance, I do know one thing: it was I who named her Arifled.
When I received the contract, I was meant only to kill the man, no questions asked. “One brown eye, one blind eye. Missing three fingers on his left hand. Living on the docks of Laketown,” was all they had told me. They neglected to mention his family, or perhaps they didn’t know. I never asked why they wanted him dead. 
I shall spare you the details of what transpired when I arrived and set about fulfilling my charge. Your father fell swiftly, though I wish I could gift you with a tale of valor. I expected your mother to weep, to fall to her knees or perhaps to beg for mercy, but she did not. Having seen your father fall from the loft overhead, she silently fetched his old sword from stars know where. I caught her creeping down the stairs, attempting to attack me when I least expected it, but the sword was too heavy for her. I took no pleasure in ending her life, and I emerged from the altercation with a deep wound in my right shoulder. It was then that I heard you, my dear, crying from the loft, up beneath the eaves. 

I have long been the monster you have known me to be, but you shall find in life, darling Arri, that even monsters can have hearts if the moment’s right. I do not envy the townsfolk who discovered the bloodshed in my wake, and I am not proud of my mission. However, I am proud of you. I can only hope that when you have finished reading this you will remember me as you knew me, even with this knowledge. I was always one for ill-fated hopes, you know…
The hour grows late, my darling, and my bones are weary. It has come time for the candles to flicker out. With every passing day I feel myself following in their path. I know I will be gone by the time you read this, though whether it shall be a matter of days or a matter of months remains to be seen. Just know that I never burned so bright as I did in the days I spent with you. You know now from whence you came, but you shall always be my daughter.

Yours,
​Feoswyth