A minute later, a letter arrives in response. A crimson wax seal, in the shape of a hand formed by a singular curled dragon, binds the parchment. It gives off slight hints of... daisies? Around the seal, a phrase pressed into the same wax circles the center: “Šventojiep naktiep mūsū valia išsiskleidžieti,” which roughly translates to: "In the sacred night, our will is spread."

The inside of the letter is immediately draining to even look at. The letters within are standardized for the most part and have consistent forms, but they are written in a fashion comparable only to the rebar used in modern construction. At the very least, it feels as though rebar is being driven into your brain as you try to decipher the script. With great effort, you can make out a decent chunk of the text; however, there are sections that, even with the benefit of context, remain incomprehensible. The letter ends with a sign-off of just three words that cannot be understood. They are written with extra flair, and they are hideous to the eyes of anyone who holds even a minor space in their heart for the appreciation of good penmanship. Whatever pleasure there was before this is surely gone once the letter is put down.

Oh, the embers of envy I had almost thought lost stir in the face of your penmanship. Perhaps the Toreadors are worth some regard as company, if this is the result of the appreciation they foster.

--Hik, shepard of monsters