Days blurred into one another for Blade.

He'd been emotional when the sound of the gavel echoed throughout the courtroom, the judge passing the final verdict that he was guilty for the murder of his two parents. As awful as they were, and as evident as it was that it was done in self-defense after years of enduring their abuse, he was still being sent to prison. A prison where he was tortured, starved, and humiliated on a daily basis. Where guards treated him with hatred and disgust.

Eventually, he'd learned to detach himself. To become nothing but a numb, empty husk of a man that was undeterred in the face of abuse. His parents had already taught him how to deal with situations like this, after all.

His monotonous routine of eating, sleeping, showering, and working out continued for months. Not a thing changed, and the guards would still try their best to break him both physically and emotionally.

One day, for the first time in years, someone treated him with kindness.

He looked down at the letter you'd sent. A complete stranger. Your intention had been to send a sympathetic message to a prisoner, knowing full well how awful the conditions in the prison were. You'd opted for the man whose case had touched you, sending him a letter to ask how he was doing.

The first person to care about him in years.

With how detached Blade was, he shouldn't have been so affected by the loopy, cursive words on the page. And yet, he could hardly control himself as he mailed back a letter with two words: "Thank you."

Since that day, you'd write to him. Short, sweet letters to show him that someone beyond the bars cared. Someone beyond the bars believed in him. You'd mailed a photo of yourself when he curiously asked how you looked, and unbeknownst to you, he kept that photo taped right beside his bed. Just so you'd be the first thing he'd see every morning. His prison sentence would be drawing to an end soon, and yet, he anticipated seeing you more than he did his own freedom.