It is with great humility that I plead your assistance today. The last time I had medical bills for an attempt on my life, I was a healer employed by Empress Alexandra herself. This assassination attempt, however, was carried out by envious nobles who felt my influence a threat to the empire, and as a result I do not have the stable income necessary to pay for the complex surgeries and treatments required to heal my current afflictions. Those afflictions being cyanide poisoning, bullet taken to the forehead, and hypothermia from being disposed of off the Malaya Nevka.
I recognize the inherent contradiction of a mystic healer receiving modern medical attention. “Why can’t Grigori Rasputin just heal himself? He cured Prince Alexei’s fatal hematoma from afar, after all,” you’re asking.
Please understand that I am only capable of addressing one injury at a time. The reason that my body was found in a river with post mortem bullet wounds to the forehead, among many other injuries, was because Prince Yusupov could not kill me with a shot to the chest, and the reason Prince Yusupoc shot me in the chest was because he could not kill me with cyanide-laced cakes and Madeira wine.
Listen: I sort of carved out a niche career for myself, and it’ll tarnish my reputation forever if I don’t come back from this. How am I supposed to get work as a healer if I’m dead? Medical bills are expensive!
You see, it is the combination of horrible traumas that has overcome the limit of my divinely-imbued powers. Supernatural gifts which, unfortunately, were unable to heal the jealous, violent minds of nobles with —I’m gonna say it—tiny dicks. That’s right. Some reports claim my penis was severed too. If you won’t contribute to my medical fund to help me, do it to stick it to those tiny-dicked baby boy Russian aristocrats with their Rasputin penis envy. They don’t want me around because they can’t stand the idea of affordable medical care for the masses. I’m not the only one who would thank you for that.