Do you remember us playing as children in the endless gardens of the palace? We wrecked such havoc on the flowerbeds while pretending to be warriors, our blades so strong and strength so mighty that we could best a thousand men. Mother always used to chide us for our destructive behaviour, but we both knew that she never really minded … and once we had exhausted ourselves, she would settle us down and regale stories of heroic deeds as we, huddled together by her feet, looked up and listened in awe.
Do you remember any of those things, back from the days when you called me brother and I called you mine? Can you close your eyes and remember the sound of our laughter, or did all those memories die along with your heritage once father admitted the truth? I wish I knew.