Look. I don’t know what to say to you.
In my head, to the absolute best of my knowledge, I’m Gulliver Vatticus. I’m your father. Or at least what’s left of him. Which isn’t much.
I know you’re feeling lost and alone. All I can say is that you’re not alone in that. As much as you have no memories of your parents, I have no memories of my children. Of you.
For what it’s worth, I also have no memory of my parents. That’s been taken from me as well. I haven’t asked them but I’d be willing to bet that Grip and Dora have no memories of their parents either.
Just like you, we’re all orphans.
I don’t know how that makes you feel.
I’ll tell you how it makes me feel. Sad. Lost. Adrift. Uncertain. Weak. To not know where I came from hurts. To not know who might have loved me or cared about me hurts. It’s fucking brutal.
But let me tell you something else.
The thought that my memories of my child were taken from me is worse. The day of your birth. When you first walked. What stupid sounds you made as a baby. All of that is gone. As far as I know, you’re not a parent so this may mean nothing to you. In many ways neither am I. Most ways.
I don’t know what I was like as a father. I don’t know what our relationship was like. I don’t know if we got along or hated each other or fought all the time or loved each other. But whatever it was, it was ours. Yours and mine.
And it’s gone.
The fury and rage I feel at having that stolen from me is indescribable. The hole inside my being where my family used to reside is like some kind of whirlpool of darkness and bile.
You’re my son. Whether you like it or not.
I know you value the truth so I’m not gonna lie to you.
I don’t love you.
I Don’t Know You.
I wish that I did. I’m sorry that we didn’t have more time to figure this shit out. Somehow. Together. Who knows? Maybe we would have been able to forge a better bond now than we ever did before.
Maybe not. Who knows? Probably not. You’re kind of a self-centered little shit.
Fuck it. You probably come by it honestly.
Survive. Bury the Ragman. Help your mom. She’s seriously messed up right now. Reynard… that poor sweet beast.
Find out what happened.
You got this, Ray.
(-Gull ) This is crossed out.
PS- I left my alchemical torch to Bates and my kit. You can have the rest as your inheritance. If you want any of it.
First Reference: Chapter 51
Other Notable References: —