|This article, Tough Love (Index Alpha), was written by Kobold Lich. Please do not edit this fiction without the writer's permission.|
<<SUBJ: REPLY//1//—“How’s It Going Teina!”>>
Tēnā koe teina,
If you told me 12 years ago our family would face something worse than the bombing, I wouldn’t have believed you. I know how detrimental my condition was to everyone’s psyche, especially yours and Niko. You two went through what very few children go through at that age. I wish I didn’t put you all through that, but life is strange. And, after all that trauma, I’m so sorry you still lost a brother so young. I still can’t believe it myself— our family doesn't deserve the tragedy we’ve been given, but that is the true face of war: unemotional chaos.
I’m going to be up front: you need to shake this vendetta. It’s as if you’re in a one-woman death-cult, now. I understand you feel like you’ve got to prove yourself by being the baddest ODST you can be, but it can’t be at the expense or in spite of your family. Not that you want to hear about it, but Marcy is fine. Your bad attitude infected her thinking, too, for a while. She messed up, we know that, but you were the catalyst. Did I tell you she broke her wrist? One of those haymakers to your thick head broke a finger and busted her wrist up. She had to postpone her stay on Reach by half a year. Obviously she realizes that she’s equally at fault, but you are the only hold out now. Jericho apologized to the whole family, and he really didn’t need to— he’s young and is still learning about life. Marcy has also apologized and I know she sent you an apology you didn’t reply to. She cares about you, Teina. Tama stopped trying to reach you when you wouldn’t even read what he sent. So, since you miraculously read my last message, I’m hoping at least you hear me out (unlike the rest of our family).
I’m not going to convince you, at least not by message, to reconcile. You need to be able to want that for yourself and your family. I hope my gift knocks some sense into you. You should, hopefully, be getting the package before you deploy again— I pulled some strings to get this to you quickly so you better not ignore it. It’s our braille copy of “My Father’s Son” that you read with me all those years ago. I hope you remember how to read braille, but if not: don’t worry. Read what you wrote on the inside cover for me.
Waimarie, you have been one of the brightest stars in my life. I am so grateful you’re my sister, and it kills me to see you acting so self-destructive. Please, apologize to Marcy. You don’t know if one of these days is going to be our last.
Ka kite anō,