Dearest Farlagne,
I hesitate to write anything. My quill hovers over the page, this being the fourth attempt that I've started. I'll write it all down and perhaps this one will survive the fire.
You ask for details, and here is what happened that faithful night. At the physicker's of whom I've spoken, the rites of surgery were a bloody affair. The bones of the boy were askew and his breathing was all but gone. It was in a moment of desperation that I spoke, "Is there nothing we can do? I'd pay any price!" Foolish it seems now, but Sneed's reply was dismissive, that the boy's life wasn't worth it. I begged the man and he relented. Gaupf brought forth a tome at Sneed's direction, and together we read.
I confess to being unsure what happened next. It seems a hallucination even in recollection. As the words of the tome were uttered aloud by me, I knew that it was no physicker's recipe, but a calling to something dark. I read anyway, the book becoming brighter, the room darker, until I found myself in a place of shadow. There was a voice who demanded I choose what I wanted, and I blurted something akin to "Give me the power to save the boy." My words were wrought of desperation, but in the same, I was utterly committed. I was aware that there would be a price, that it could be dark and terrible. I gave it no thought simply accepted that was the cost and would shoulder that burden when the time came.
I do not know how, my words fail me to explain, but somehow, at the boy's side, I bled the life from a goat and imbued Sneed with the competence to save the child. A life for a life, may my soul be damned for eternity.
Only, that's not the end. You see, I held onto some of that power. I did not give it all to Sneed. Perhaps he hoped I would, I do not know, but when the boy stood on his own, I ran. They tried to follow, cursing my treachery. They could not find me although I was there in the street pleading with whatever waited in the shadows for curtains to pass before their eyes and show them only an empty street.
I should burn this. If there is one chance for redemption, I leave it in your hands my friend. I have no crafts to speak of, only a penchant for debauchery and more than a passing familiarity with the life of the aristocrat. I am a student of human nature and all it's hidden corners. If I had my way, I'd seek an opportunity as a barrister yet my days may not be numbered long enough to warrant the expenditure of study.
Your humble servant,
Dorian LaCroix
