A letter to Mae

[Don Nadie]

Mae,

I was concerned, seeing you today. Concerned you didn't drink the Cure, that you would not drink it till you understood it. Concerned that time is brief, that this illness consummes you and that by the time you actually want to drink it, it'll be too late.

I am so sad, Mae. The fall of this Star has brought so much awfulness - and I still do not understand why it was /this one/ that was chosen, rather than the lump of empty rock I was told it would be. Marcellus tells me a story, others tell me another. There is anger, and unknowns, and fear. And I fear for you.

I know you are worried, and angry. I may not understand why, or share your suspicions, but I know it. Still, I keep fearing your death. I keep fearing you'll be lost, too. I think there'll be a time for you to study every sample you wish, when the inmediate danger has passed. When you are safe. But you may never decypher it (the methods of the Tower and the Priory, from an external perspective, seem as unrelated as Old Formorian and Sibilant), or it may take too long. Don't let this sickness consumme you.

Remember what we spoke of. How we see, in others, what we fear from ourselves. How at times what makes us raise walls against those arround us is not their feelings, but our insecurities. I do not know whether you can ever trust the Priory, but trust that /I/ want you to live. And, to live, I believe you must take this Cure.

Please live.

Yours,

Alejandro