It is not enough to heed the things a father teaches. One has to know how to apply such knowledge, especially in theatres of war. And make no mistake, we are indeed at war. We've been at war since the hush first settled, and seethed. Since wraith-magic first twisted the sky and stole the light from my harbours. Those terrifying days when my shining cities were burnt to ash. So quietly, so insidiously. We Magi were scattered, shattered. The hidden places still know our lament. The forests haven't forgotten. Trees never forget. They know something has changed in the air, that something sour and unclean now rules the winds. Well, not for much longer. Eternity belongs to light, to joy and adventure, as it always has. These monsters are thus only a brief imbalance. Nothing more than a momentary arrhythmia of experience. Father's design is perfect and allows for imperfect choices, such is the depth of his vision. Do you think this means he sanctions horror and monstrosity?
It does not.
He doesn't abide all this cowardice, this preying on the weak and the young. And you call yourselves magicians? Thievery and blood-bought glamours. Nothing more. Real magic moves in service to others, not merely service to self. How dare you deny nuance and cast only with the grossest simplifications? I expected better of you, Fallen. Once upon a time. But not anymore. Forever the romantic am I, it seems. How silly of me. No matter. You'll know your choices, in the end. In exacting detail.
Do you think a father stands separate from a mother, in dreams? Do you? Do you think a husband stands apart from his wife, or his children?
There are bonds that connect all of us. The dead and the living, master and the slave, enemy and the friend. So, imagine those bonds between the truly devoted. Imagine what a fearless heart might be willing to do, to ensure the safety of another. Crowns and evening gowns. Silent choirs. The genius of a wife, the love of a mother, the strength of a daughter. A king is nothing without a queen, after all. Love is our greatest pride, for who are we without our cherished ones? Hear me, Fallen. We will be the death of you, sooner or later. She is only dressed in mortal flesh, but she is something beyond human. A queen of the night places, betrothed to light itself. Her swordhand is singing as she wages the only righteous war. The War of Imagination. Listen closely. Her swordhand sings of Mother, Father and Child.