I never knew my father. All that my mother spouted to me was that he was a drunk and a coward.
That’s all I would ever know.
My mother took a dagger in the chest when I was five. You see, she was a whore. A good one, in fact, or so I heard. It’s just that she didn’t take anything from anyone, and come time to cough up the coin, one man didn’t want to pay. That must’ve sent my mother off in a frenzy, which led to the dagger.
I loved that woman.
I think they caught the man. I’m not quite sure what happened to him. It’s all a bit fuzzy. All I remember after that is the orphanage. I can still smell the metallic rust of that shithole.
– From Unpublished: Entry 33 by Thaydon Vorlance