The Queen of Cats is lonely. She has sent this letter to Vexius.

Vexius,

I find myself in the most hiss-terical of predicaments, and as you are the only one in this wretched Vale who understands the weight of a grudge held across centuries, I address this to you.

My heart’s twin—that insufferable King of Trickery—has retreated into his castle. We had a disagreement, a minor cat-astrophe of words, and now he has walled up his keep entirely. He refuses my messages and has barred the very gates I once walked through as a guest of honor. It is a petulant, mortal sort of behavior that frankly makes me want to pounce with indignation; it sits quite ill with his station.

He thinks he is safe behind his "Iron Veil," but I know the nature of his court better than most. He has always preferred the company of those who can wear a thousand faces—copy-cats and mimics, the lot of them. You know as well as I that in his halls, one should never trust the eyes of a friend or the smile of a stranger; everything is a whisker away from a lie.

The path to his doorstep is currently crawling with his playmates—fur-midable shapeshifters and fey who find my frustration a-mews-ing. It is a house of mirrors, Vexius, and he is the grandest reflection of them all, always landing on his feet regardless of the truth.

He believes he is "mending" our relationship by creating this distance, but he is merely pussy-footing around the issue. He forgets that I have no patience for his games of hide-and-seek. If he wishes to play the hermit, I shall simply send those who are not yet weary of his illusions to knock upon his door.

If the King of Trickery will not answer his Queen, then I shall make sure his solitude is interrupted by the most persistent of guests. I am fur-ious, and I will not be ignored.

With sharpened claws and a tail of woe,

The Queen of Cats

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