Dearest Sister,

You saw fit in the recent past to order one of Yours to brand one of Mine. As a result of Your command, My Preceptor, Kerryn Cardinalis, now wears a scar in the shape of a Duskywing butterfly - placed there by the hand of her own father. Your servant did this thing in exchange for a boon from You. I understand that the blame falls upon him for doing such a thing to his own daughter, but to give him sole accountability in this is to ignore Your part in the matter.

Perhaps in the past it was the custom in the southeast to deny converts for the scars they wore - for their past transgressions - for the shadows that dogged them. All I can say is that You, Sister, have misjudged Me most grievously if You take Me for one of these narrow sorts, and Your followers, too, have misjudged Me, if they seek to arouse My disgust by branding My followers with scars.

Or have You forgotten that all Sapient folk wear scars? My wrists are clad in scars where manacles and chains once enslaved Me. There is no mortal I have yet seen who is not scarred, not broken, not imperfect. Should these things disgust Me? Should these things be adequate reason to deny the Light to them? I say no. I say that You have no notion of what the Light is, and what Truth is, if you think that these things disguise it.

My followers remain at My side, Sister, no matter what You and Your servants do to them, no matter what snares You attempt to bind them with, no matter what temptations You lay before them. You shall not bind them. You shall not fetter them. You shall not turn My love and My protection away from them.

Only You would think of doing such a thing.

Regards and defiance,
Your Brother, Damariel

Penned by my hand on the 16th of Slyphian, in the year 409 MA.