Letter Contents
Armag, Usurper.
How dare you sit on my throne. How dare you walk over my lands like you built them. You didn’t earn a damn thing you have. Every stone in those walls, every field that feeds your table, they’re mine. You just showed up when the dirt was still wet with my blood and the throne, still warm and called it yours.
You eat off my work. You sleep under my roof. You play king while my body rotted in the dark. Do you even think about that? Do you ever stop and wonder whose hands built the chair you rest in, whose blood paid for your comfort?
I’m not asking for it back. I’m not begging for it back. I’m coming to take it back. Mark my words.