My dearest, the World,

I have come to know myself. Or rather, part of myself. I know half of my name now, and that is something I did not know months ago, as I laid awake and stared at my confining ceiling. I repeated a dying phrase to that ceiling in hopes that my suspicion of myself was incorrect.

But alas, my name is Alexander. That is something I can't control. Do your people forget what they should? Are they willing to? I would ask them to forget some things.

Which brings me to my current point. My whole mind is in hiding. The brass cage that holds me pushes me in to myself, and my captors wish me to stay that way. The captors want an image, and when I don't fit it, they don't like me. My dearest World, do you blame me for what is not my own?

I regret that this letter is so short, but I run out of patience and questions. My shadow grows darker.

My greatest regards,

Alexander the Victim