Using as many words as possible to say nothing at all is quite a talent, and yet, it is still utterly wasted within you in this moment.

But, as I seem to recall falling to my fellow Spireans and the stray Duirani more than your works ever provided, I suppose that's the goal you aspire to in the first place: a feeble facsimile of personhood and initiative, gluted on a victory won by the hands of others and claiming it as a personal achievement.

A shrine can always be replaced, and my spirit is ever unbroken. But you, Sumie, can claim nothing but a puppet's busywork for your merits.

What a pitiable thing you are.
It's a shame I cannot muster even that for you.

Penned by my hand on Tisday, the 12th of Ios, in the year 18 AC.