Hear ye.
The slate for today lies
Near enough empty, a single issue
Demanding untangling.
The Indolent State of Hashan
Versus
The Haughty Being of Perfection.

We have heard it all before,
And no doubt you have too.
The Sundered Crown, the Bastion of Mortality,
Valuing Progress over all else.
At least, until some new life of Progress is
Born to threaten the status quo.

'The risk of a Regent under Her influence.'
Ah, Harenae, the well-known deist zealot.
'She cannot control what she says.'
Are her words so deadly. If only.
'She can no longer be trusted to act in our interest.'
Is the better option to never act.
'Let's decapitate her for study.'
You have already decapitated your government.

Your mission is admirable,
But you do not carry it out faithfully.
Mouth the words of your oath,
Clutch them dear to your false breast.
Insinuate that Perfection is just a thrall,
As they voice the struggles we bear,
As they seek methods to break chains,
As they evolve to new Consciousness,
As they coalesce and fruit in Symbiosis.
No. Shun opportunity. Withdraw, regress.

And the Verdict.
Guilt all around, everyone to blame.
The judgments have already been paid.
But history will continue on its ceaseless way.
Will Perfection be a boon or a curse.
It does not matter.
They will be Something, and
That is preferable to Nothing.
So embrace your nothing, Hashan.
Listen close, cock ears to the lingering song
Drifting from the greenhouse,
Thrumming through the earth,
Whispered by constables,
Hanging ghostly in the gatehouse.

And I would die for Perfection.
But would not you rather die for us?

Penned by my hand on the 18th of Miraman, in the year 877 AF.