I try to imagine her in my memory, yet these shades I conjure do pale before the beauty of Medea's reality.

Would that I had not let her leave. Would that I could see her again.

Player: "You're well smitten, friend."

Aye, that I am. Yet if I had loved Medea more then, I'd not have let her leave for Asmodae.

But her mind was set to it, and it was that iron-strong will that made me love her.

A spy's work is dangerous and secret. Contact's not allowed lest her cover be undone. But could I ask you to take fair Medea a simple letter?

Player: Accept.

I shall set ink to quill, and be not a moment.

There, it is done. No masterpiece, but it will touch her all the same.

Please, take it to Medea, tell her of my state, and bid her return.

Player: “All that I can, I'll do.”

What brings you here, Daeva, far from home?

Player: "A letter from love-sick Jinus."

He knows well we should not correspond lest my disguise be revealed, but his love touches me nonetheless.

And it strengthens my heart all the more. I must be dutiful to Sanctum, must hold fast in my resolve to aid Elysea.

Better that he should send me no more letters. But I'll commit this one to memory, before I burn it.