Mirrored from Sythyry.
Of course, I got the following letter from ~mother~:
Dear Ostentatious Offspring,
Yylhauntra, who knows everything that happens with everyone in the family, informs me that that silly political stance you are taking about transaffection either has shattered altogether, or is about to do so. Not a moment too soon! A century too late, even, but we shan’t mention that. I won’t say I disapprove of Sazandigraa. You could do worse than zir. As, indeed, you have done repeatedly. Still, picking someone on the more Enchanting side of the family, or even of the species, would be all for the better, and without zir Mentador and ritual magic and occasional wild adventuring. And without your wild adventuring! Are you still corresponding with that sweet Aethrahacxy, Tsaomineinen’s child, and the grandchild of the Wild and Scaly Llezcaryg? Do go and visit zir. And leave that tacky candelabra skyship behind, and all the crew; they do not do you great credit.
Your loving ~mother~,
Which lead to a quick (day-long) exchange:
Yylhauntra seems aware that we were up to something. Did you tell zir? I certainly didn’t.
I certainly didn’t either! You are my coz-conspirator, I didn’t breathe a word! Still, my servants know me well; I daresay someone reported my admittedly over-smiling expression of the morning to Yylhauntra, who has been known to make good presents to people who tell him important things about me. There may have been some scrying or time-probing involved. I haven’t your delicate perceptions of subtle magic, or not without four hours for a Kennoc Magiador ritual first anyhow. I’m very sorry — is Yylhauntra causing you trouble or doom?
Dear my love,
No trouble from Yylhauntra, but Eitharheinen has been amazingly rude to me — warning me off of you, in effect, and recommending a substitute. If I ever have a child, I do hope I manage to be nicer to zir, or at least less offensive.
which was a bad thing to write! Because:
Oh, dear, you truly are throwing yourself into cisaffection, aren’t you? One lay, and you’re already thinking of eggs. I have been trying to steel myself to the prospect for two centuries now, and I might be able to face it in a mere two or three more. Perhaps I am less driven than you.
Dear my love,
Which I attempted to parry with:
No, no, no! I have not even started trying to think about the prospect! I am in loco parentis (meaning, of course, “pretending to be a parent because I am b*tshit insane) to various short-lives — including Feralan to some extent, though that’s more in loco godparentis.
Oh, dear. I have at times felt rather intensely about someone or other. I am relieved that you take a more measured approach! Even about me.
With love and considerable embarrassment,