Seven ~ Faded

My dear D-----,

       How T----- has faded! you must have noticed, darling. Hushed rumour passed every pair of lips last night the moment he stepped away. His eyes were dull, his face without expression, and he walked as if his back pained him - almost as if the scars which we all bear were clawing into his skin, digging themselves deeper, trying to tear through him completely. Even his attire seemed weary, his jacket a pathetically thin and worn velour, the navy dye weak from wear and lack of care. I could not bring myself to say so to him - he must have known - that the hem of the sleeves were even slightly frayed. Such carelessness in his appearance! His hair was among the first to turn complete dark, but he kept it well-styled until now. He looked terribly unkempt, and I do believe I observed disturbingly human lines left by Time upon his face.

       I do hope he returns to his senses before long, else he will begin to reflect badly on the rest of us, what a deplorable revealing of weakness in him. Ones such as us should not succumb to depressions and doubts - we had the strength to leave heaven itself, to exist apart from What created us. We made our selves and our purposes anew - such things none else can even conceive, most men never even learn their true purpose, or can fully grasp it. Such feeble, wasteful beings. But we have the power of the unfettered souls we once were, cast into flesh though we are.

       I have noticed T----- in the company of that dreadful writer of his a great deal lately - an unsettling degree of camaraderie between the two. I am afraid T----- is allowing himself to be influenced by one of these pathetic half-beasts. I shall have to speak with him and see how extensive this has become, as I grow troubled.