Epistle XXI: Tendrils of the Void
We lost the battle today. Or rather I should write, we did not have a clear victory. Blizzards came blasting out from the tendrils and nebulæ that were forming out of the Void. Your Father and I were fighting back to back against the storms raging against us, but entire veils of realities were crashing downwards and incinerating. We had to send the fleet back, but even as the warships and umbrella living ships and great glass and hot air balloons were backing away, hordes of quantum dæmons began pouring out of the darkness for to attack us. We fought throughout the night and all this day. I am quite tired.
My Sisters: I must tell you, I know you intend no harm at all, and I am quite proud of you for helping mine Éfhelìnye upwards, but please, if you can help it, do not touch her angel wings if you can. She is extremely sensitive about them. Thank you, though, for taking such good care of her. I miss all of you very much.
Mine Éfhelìnye: Please be patient with my Sisters and the family of my birth. Never before have they had to take care of someone who is Empyreal and Divine. It may be that your holy Mother may just have to take command and be the Mistress of our Clan, at least in terms of your wellbeing.
I am very tired and can write no more this day. Great-Uncle Táto was hurt, and Grandfather Pátifhar has fallen asleep even while he is standing and leaning upon his fanstaff. Please, Éfhelìnye, continue to write to me. You are the only joy left unto me, my memories of you and the letters that you send. Winter threatens the dance of realities here.
It is very bad.
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