Heir,

You are more Herald of Ruin than that murderous woman who stalks the ramparts, more a student of Suffering than the Tyrannus. A small matter of Pride for You, no doubt. Was it not enough to ruin his home world and send his people scattering? Was enslaving and torturing the man with the curse of mimehood still not enough? Enough?

That You would then toss him away into the vast unknown, careless. What excessive abuse. When we reflect on Mortality's shortcomings, how our children lack. It worries us to see how resonant they are with You. Neglectful. Shallow. Detached.

Disappointing.

We can wait and hope Meov one day manages to find his way back, having grown along the trip, to then shepherd You off on Your own joyous journey to join Your twin.

We remain,
Remain,

[A single, languid wavy line signs the letter in silver, rising and falling and returning back to the median as tilde, a dot hugging the insides of each concave curve as a brother and sister torn apart by the careless curve of Fate's winding.]

Penned by my hand on the 10th of Mayan, in the year 879 AF.