Upon an ornate desk on the cusp of death, a letter makes its presence known.

Abandoned, vulnerable, and alone, it sits.

Decades have come and gone since a gaze last rested upon its surface.
The gentle and dim moonlight pouring through the thick curtains grants the marks hastily etched onto the page to be liberated from obscurity.

-

"They lied to us.

They promised they would save us.
They promised our souls would ascend past the heavens to bathe in a glorious existence holier than the Gods could even begin to comprehend.
They preach of our inferiority -- denouncing the organic inefficiencies that tie us to our motherland -- and hang the twin titles of 'messiah' and 'savior' over their heads, adjusting it between their horns with a hubris that knows no bounds.

I ask myself, as the meat of our flesh is torn asunder in pits of flame to become a mockery of both ourselves and of the sanctified beasts; did we truly need saving?

Open thine eyes, I beg of thee;

The others refuse to hear even a peep of this epiphany of mine -- especially those of my own blood -- they brand me a heretic, a traitor, a man in need of a savior.
They greet eternal turmoil dressed in gleaming scales by bathing them in self-sacrifices and glory.

Open thine ears, I beg of thee;

I could not bear seeing your loving form writhing in wretchedness along with the other unfortunate fools in a venerated mass grave.
I could not bear hearing your desperate screaming and begging of symphonic agony reverberating off of the sacred barrier of the cathedral, drowned out by pretentious hymns of blasphemous worship.

...

I cannot allow that to happen, I simply cannot. I fear for your safety even more than mine.

Make your way to Bay Leaf Bridge when the lunar bell tolls."