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[!] An undelivered letter rests in a chest at the foot of the Imperial bed. [!]

 

It is unfit that I address you as the man you once were. You have ascended beyond your mortal coil, beyond what any man can  comprehend. You sit beneath the throne of God, and yet still I would trouble you with my temporal foolishness.

 

I have done all I could in my life to make you proud of me, yet still I have failed so often. I have been detached from the core ideals of my bond with you, and with the Lord. I have been filled with wroth and pride, and forgotten the lessons of Spirit; that we are all dire sinners. I have treated fellow men as servants, and as fools, and forgotten the lessons of Auspice; that we are all destined for Paradise. I have looked down my nose upon those who would defy me, and forgotten the lessons of Gospel; pride is as disease of faith.

 

Still, the inklings of the man I once was fester within me. Decades of solitude interrupted only by my daughters has damaged my feel for what it is to live amongst my people. Yet I have been thrust unto a holy vocation, and am myself reborn.

 

I consider now, every day, that my temporal power is one with my holy duty. It must be that the Lord has seen my devotion, and given to me the infinite resolve I now have. I am pious. I believe in the One True Lord. I believe that I must use my mortal power to create for my country a field ripe for a great revolution in faith; the foundations of a future and a world where the Canonist is beloved, and not feared. There is no alternative to infinite service to God. 

 

It is written. It is commanded. 

 

I have no more questions for you, father. I am infinite in my resolution. I had once thought it was pride to believe I could truly do the work of God. I thought that it was ignorant and foolish to believe I was favored, or I was pious. How can I hold this holy seat without righteousness and virtue in my spirit? How can I be the steward of this realm, and not believe that I am true to His word? 

 

There, but for the Grace of God, I go.

 

Your son,

Philip

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Anders Cardinal Jorenus would probably have thought the letter wholesome and a perfect display of a faithful's self-awareness of their own imperfections if it were published but alas.. it remains sunken in an Imperial chest.

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