“You should have told me earlier that he was the craftsman who created you, Perturabo. ”
“Then I can be stricter with you. ”
……
A craftsman, a wrapping, a glass, a bridle;
The forge who smelts ironstone, the bard of Olympia.
Morse.
This is my brand new name, given by your creation—Perturabo, your failed tool, unsuccessful man-made.
O Emperor, the yoke of our sins is tied by your hands, and is like a yoke around your neck.
(The author is unspeakably loyal, 100% imperialist)
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