Letter 8 - Gin to Kei

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Dearest Kei, 

I apologize for the delay, but there has been a bit of a commotion since I
received your last letter. Nearly simultaneous with your report to me was
Dear Little Adda's report to your mother's good friend Eidu, who wasted no
time in reporting Prince Auron's "heretical", "unconscionable",
"diabolical", and "perfidious" intentions to my esteemed former master, the
Archprelate of Fire. That reverend elder promptly called for a dissolution
of our diplomatic ties with Auron's realm, to insulate us from the heavenly
retribution sure to fall upon the Prince's beautiful head. 

(I am optimistic that the prophecied destruction has _not_ been visited
upon you, and furthermore that you have not been confined to one of the
thousand individually-crafted torture cells beneath Auron's palace, or at
least that you will be able to escape if so.) 

As a known associate of yours, my status has fallen precipitately, to the
approximate level of those pale slimy creatures that feed upon the fungus
that grows on the walls of the wasteshafts. When the moon is reborn, I
shall have to undergo a Thorough Cleansing (a prospect I am trying to avoid
dwelling upon); in the meantime, my parents have confined me to the
smallest cave of our branch, with no objects or materials that might lead
to moral weakness. (This includes garments other than the Coat of
Penitence, which _still_ makes me look like a burlap sack stuffed with
pillows. It also includes ink, brush, and paper, but those are small enough
to be lowered down the smokevent on a string (by which same route this
letter will depart my prison when it is finished). 

The writing supplies, along with a few other necessities of life, are
delivered to me by Omin, who seems to be the de facto leader of those who
do not oppose Auron's plans. Unfortunately, neither he nor any of his
comrads have any place in either Parliament or Synod; they are limited to
presenting Citizen's Petitions, which are given less than no weight by our
leaders. 

The popular opinion (on our side) seems to be that the divide is
generational in nature: those who have grown fat with the assistance of the
ancient legends are naturally opposed to the upset of their throne by the
creation of new legends. There is certainly some merit to this view, but I
wonder if the waning of the curse might also be responsible in some
measure. If so, think what future generations might accomplish! 

My supply of paper grows thin, so I shall close here. Please inform me at
once of your progress; I fear the future of our people is contingent upon
it. 

Love,
Your Unjustly Immured Gin 

PS: As everything worthwhile I receive must fit through a passage of
approximately two inches' diameter, whatever present you proposed to send
for my solution to the riddle of the underlined passages may have to wait.
A token in appreciation of Omin's support of us both might not be amiss,
however. 
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