Oh how the years have ticked by, Archprelate of the New Burning Times.
And as each one has passed I've watched and waited, a woman scorned.
Lost to her beloved husband because of his war-time frivolity with none
other than the man everyone believes to be sitting upon the pedestal of
Righteousness. How far will you fall for your treachery? For leading
those who believe they are following you into the Light into the whims
of the Prophet of Babel? For me, the depths to which you may plummet
will never be enough. How long do you think it will be before your
actions are brought into the same blinding brillance that engulfed the
many tomes I spent months of my life penning? Did you and my husband
share a drink at Nitre's when it was all over? Did you guffaw and
chortle at how both Light-Bearer and Babelonian threw themselves gladly
into the chaotic mix of what you had created? How can anyone who
embraces or has ever embraced Chaos not recognize you for what you are:
Harbringer of the Chaotic? Pinky finger of the Hand of Pazuzu?

Penned by my hand on the 2nd of Scarlatan, in the year 468 AF.