Version 1
I used to do this with Deirdre. I wrote her letters for years after she died, and I let every one of them float down the river. Maybe you saw me do it, but you never said anything. It made that time bearable. Grief makes us do strange things. But you know all about that, don’t you?
This one might make the wounds come open again, but isn’t that what I want? You’re not dead. I know that. But you might as well be, for how far away you are. So I’ll write down everything I can’t say to you and throw it in the sea, just like I used to.
The years since the Flooded District were hard. Building a new name from scratch takes a lot out of you, and now I’m leaving it behind. I wonder if you’ll even recognize me. I’m not as young as I was. Well, neither were you, when you went after the Brigmore witches. But that wasn’t your last job, either. All the rumors put you right back in it, dealing with gangs and black markets and bonecharms. What are you up to? What are you doing in Karnaca, when you could be anywhere in the Isles?
I have a feeling that when I find you, I won’t like your answers.
Version 2
I’m writing this while you sleep. You still snore. Talk sometimes, too. Mutter. I didn’t know what you’d be like when I found you again, but you’re just as troubled as you were when I left Dunwall.
Could things have been different? I always wondered what I could have been if I hadn’t tried to kill you that night. If I’d stayed and helped you. Would the Whalers still be a part of Dunwall’s nightmares? Would you still want the Outsider’s blood on your hands?
Maybe you had a few good years before you let this new obsession eat you up. Now you’ll risk everything for it, won’t you? By the Void, I’m laughing. When I was a kid, I wanted to be just like you. Well, now I am.
Maybe killing the Outsider will let you find some peace at last. Maybe that’s all you want, to know that everything we did at least made some kind of difference. That it wasn’t all just death. That all the faces we stepped on paved the way to a fairer world.
Maybe that’s the only hope you have left.
Version 3
Every day you move a little slower. Your breathing gets little heavier. When you cough now, your whole body shudders like someone’s punched you in the chest. We both know what’s coming, but it’s still hard to watch. I used to think nothing could bring you down.
But you helped when I was hurt. You took care of me when I was so sick with loss I couldn’t do anything but fight. And now I get to take care of you. I guess I should say thanks. How else could I ever pay back something as priceless as that?
You wanted to sit on the deck of the ship and look out on the water, so I helped you climb up through the hold. The nights are mild now. The water’s calm. It wasn’t why I picked this spot, but it’s a nice view of the sea. I hope you like it. I hope you remember the peaceful days in Dunwall, when we shared whiskey on rooftops and said nothing at all.