'My beloved Sandra, daughter and friend, Fate has run it's course to me. As my body lay broken, know that whatever I am accused, I am not the perpetrator. For in my timely existence I labored to be a righteous man. Such actions are deemed futile, as on the morrow my life ends on the gallows. The council of inquisition, by the use of terrible force, have coerced a confession worthy of my death. None have spoken on my behalf, for none have considered my life important enough to intervene. God himself has turned away from my sufferings. Only you, Sandra, have been the one soul who ever loved someone without the luxury of luck as myself. If anything else my child, be aware that tomorrow as innocent man dies.
Mercarto finished what would be the last letter ever written from his broken hands. Heavy was his heart. His only possession was the memories of a life not daunted with pain and fear. From inside his cell he could see the pale of moonlight. "How could a God who could create the Earth, the sky, and the Heavens allow my innocence to go unnoticed?" Rage was put aside. For any spirit he had left in him had been destroyed by cruel and unusual tortures by the filthy hands of the inquisition. Memories of a far distant life were the only comfort to a life that was surely to die by the coming dawn. There truly was no justice in this world.....'
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