Dear fool,

Word has reached me that you are meddling in things that you do not understand. You know exactly of what I speak, so I’ll not insult us both by writing down particulars. This is your first and only warning. Walk away. People change their minds all the time, drift into other pursuits, lose interest, or simply lower the stone they have aimed true at the hornet’s nest.

See that you are one of them.

Some have thought that they can buy the Mother of Whispers, intimidate her, even defeat her. They are all dead, and they all died not screaming deaths but wheezing ones. Gurgling as the blood filled their lungs, ushered in by the hidden blade. Gasping as the poison did its work despite the food tasters. Stillborn screams on their lips as the garrote closed, merciless, or the gilded pillow delivered its luxuriant, smothered, death.

The Mother of Whispers knows all, hears all. You will not surprise me. You will not defeat me. You will never know my name, or my station. All you will know is oblivion, unless you turn back now. The hand that wrote this on my behalf is already dead, rotting in an alleyway or bobbing in a canal.

Heed this warning, or join them. It matters not to me.

Yours in death,
The Mother of Whispers

PS – You may wonder why you have been warned at all. Know that someone bought this warning for you with their life and all their possessions. You would do well to honor their sacrifice.


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