Miriele's Letter to Her Mother on Leaving Sherbourne

Dear Mother,
 
I find myself always writing to you ‘ere I’m about to leave a place. I leave Sherbourne later today. I’ve spent much time in my research, making friends (some of the unlikeliest you’d imagine), and generally enjoying this town. There are many places to enjoy good food and music.
 
As always, I tend to know many people without having too much contact with any one person. But here I have made two fairly close friends. One is a fisherman - or was before tragedy befell his family. He’s a bit older and reminds me from time to time of father. Strong, stalwart, concerned about his family. The other owns a bookshop. She’s [inksplot] wonderful and challenging all at once. She certainly challenges me to reconsider my contributions to society and, I suppose, improve myself as I can.
 
I’ve recently come into some news that some aether-sensitive teens and young adults, primarily those who have recently been slated to go to the Arcanium, are going missing. I can’t imagine such things coming to our little village, but perhaps keep an eye out for those in the village who have come of age in the past year or those who will soon. We aren’t entirely certain yet what is happening to these near-children, but based on what we know so far, it’s grim and nothing I’d wish on anyone.
 
I know it might not seem like it, but I do think of you and our family often. I feel not like myself these days. Probably these many years. I remain fascinated by other peoples and cultures and how different they are from our village. I’ve taken to mimicking some of these differences to feel what it might be like to be, well, different than I am. Sometimes it’s amusing. Sometimes it’s just exhausting. But increasingly, it feels necessary.
 
I have not the time for a longer letter. Despite my pensiveness this morning, I am well. And mostly happy most of the time, if a little lonely. And that seems better than most.
 
Perhaps I’ll have the courage to write to you at the beginning of a stay in a town where you might have the chance to write me back, if you wanted to. Some nights, I lay under the stars and hum songs you’ve sung to me hundreds of times. I like to think on those nights you feel me near.
 
I love you very much,
Your Miri.