Sanria sat in her kitchen, both her hands upon a single piece of parchment. She stared at the rolling script, touching it every now and again as though the very act would bring forth the author. It wasn't a goodbye note she held in her hand, it held more of a promising outlook. Throm would join her for tea.
Sanria carefully laid the missive on the table and slid her hands around the cup of slowly cooling tea before her. A small ball of doubt sat in the center of her stomach, preventing her from even taking a sip. Thasmudyan told her to move ahead, to go on with life. She was trying, but it was hard to let go of one aspect of that life, and deal with the others. What would Tarran think? What would Emalia think?
What, at any rate, was happening with Emalia? Sanria had no clue where her daughter was, how she was, or even if she still lived. In a way, she was afraid to find out. She still recalled a time when Nanashi talked to her of bringing down the Rok, as well as Thasmudyan, rushing to find her and inform her of Sephiroth speaking to the masses. How Emalia could fall in line with thoughts like those that Nanashi had spoken to her years past, puzzled her. But to try to speak to her daughter about it could only end in the same type of disaster as the last time she tried.
Sanria shook her head and again and let go of the cup, taking hold of Throm's note in both her hands. Her eyes were drawn to a single passage and like a girl, she read it again and again to drown out all her other thoughts save one: "Truth be told I have enjoyed our meetings, no I have looked forward to them in a sense that I have failed to express before in our conversations. I must say that I admire your candor, for it is one that I did not possess when I felt the same way towards you."
