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Dear Father

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Father, thank you for raising me and caring for me for so long. It is due to your guidance I’ve grown up so healthy.

When I look back on the time I spent with you, I remember studying protocol quite a lot. You must have been trying to make me into a refined young woman. I didn’t always like it at the time, but now I’m thankful that you made me learn so much.

Another good memory is working part-time. Bongor, the owner

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fuck this shit.


Father, I am in therapy. My childhood would have left no normal woman unscathed. I started with menial labor as a ten year old; my closest confidante during my childhood was a part-demon who smiled nervously all the time, and I had regular conversations with a bullied Jester from an early age. What more is left to say? Growing up under your guidance has driven me to drink. As I am downing my nightly bottle of gin, I will give you a few pointers as to why my upbringing wasn’t the most fortunate in the world.

First, we need to talk about dragons. Let’s establish some facts here.
a. Older, slightly perverted dragons are not good companions for thirteen-year-old girls, especially if those dragons start to dole out money.
b. Dragon Tights are not, and will never be, appropriate evening wear. Not in castles, not in towns, and particularly not during Harvest Festivals.
c. It is not okay to even consider giving away your only daughter to a pimply, blue-haired dragon boy who sweats a lot and talks funny, just because his father pays you.
I would even venture so far as to propose that dragons have a very limited place in a normal and healthy upbringing of a small- town girl. A little glimpse of a dragon would have been enough, or maybe two small glimpses, but not this constant display of dragon greed and dragon fights and dragon sexuality. No one needs to know about dragon sexuality, Papa.

Another thing that shouldn’t have been featured in my upbringing is Lucifon, Prince of Darkness. I swear, my life would have been so much better without Lucifon, Prince of Darkness. I would have been a much happier woman if I had never had to utter phrases like “Hello, Lucifon, Prince of Darkness! How are you doing, Lucifon, Prince of Darkness? Is there a lot of carnage in your cave, Lucifon, Prince of Darkness? Orgies again, Lucifon, Prince of Darkness!” My views of sin and morality will never be the same after those conversations. Hours of monotonous sweeping under the constant guidance of Sister Lee cannot eradicate the sights I have seen and the feelings I have felt. Next time you raise someone, Daddy, the Prince of Darkness has got to go.

What kind of father sends his daughter out in the Western Desert when she is ten years old and can barely fend for herself? The kind of father who enjoys seeing his daughter getting chased by harpies, I suspect. Normal daughters went to the Pawn Shop and bought books or to the Church and donated money. I went to the giant ladder and fought the War God. He was deeply unpleasant.

I never got to marry the prince, Father, because my charisma fell short of the mark. Or maybe it was the Dragon Tights or the fact that I always smelled faintly of horse dung. I don’t know. Instead, I had to marry a courteous and well-mannered knight. His well-manneredness does not extend that far though, as he spends his free time flirting with cheery, super-housewife Martha and chiding me for not wanting kids. Apparently my maternal instincts are somewhat lacking. According to him, I should have spent more time handling the brats in the Daycare Center and less time on combat defense.

I enjoyed my studies, Father. I’ll give you that. Underage drinking with Leftor, painting the exact replica of Advent of Angels no less than four times, plié, plié, plié, and then back to the dusty, old monk for another round of Olive learns to suck up to high society. It was fun, and I got to meet people who that weren’t kidnappers or giant scorpions. I even got some sleep in the back of science class, which, god knows, I needed after all that farming. Bongor, the owner of the farm, was not a kind mentor, by the way. He blew pipe smoke in my face and laughed when the horse bit me.

I also want to thank you for buying stuff from that creepy Travelling Salesman when I won those festivals. It was a kind gesture, even when you bought the pendant that came with all kinds of demon strings attached. The stress-reducing dolls I got for every birthday were also a nice touch. The eight dolls sit next to my bed, immobile and staring. They have constant plastic smiles, and they never blink. Come to think about it, that’s not very stress reducing, is it?

Working from an early age and going on constant adventures filled with monsters, sinkholes, and talking snowballs left me with very little free time. I was a lonely child. The people at the castle were only interested in my decorum, Cube sweated constantly, and let’s not even mention the dragons. The only people I could hang out with on an equal footing were the people who challenged me in the streets. Bon-Bon Bizarro will always be very dear to me; Natalia Dripsikova showed me how to do wondrous things with her whip, and there is nothing I know about hammer-whackage that Massar Halbar didn’t teach me. Despite the forged friendships with middle-aged fighters, I have to question the judgment of a father who lets his daughter run wild with people who wear necklaces made of skulls of defeated opponents.

To sum up, my childhood was weird, lonely, and filled with inappropriate dragons. I hope you’ll get a good chiding from my guardian. Think twice before you raise another floating sphere from the heavens!

Also, I am running away with Patricia, the debutante. We’re getting married.