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To the esteemed heir of the Aegir dukedom, whose name shall not be repeated lest it wear out before put to any sort of constructive use,
Insufferable moron that you are, I find myself writing to spare Lady Edelgard the frustration of hearing talk of you more often than is strictly necessary. But why, Hubert? You would ask in that childish naïve tone of yours, and I would relish in telling you that the paper these words are written on will burn to ashes before you get to set your doe eyed gaze on them, for enduring an exchange with you willfully to express my ennui would have consequences no amount of well or ill meaning patience could withstand.
And so, you eager cockroach, I would have you know that I despise the virginal enthusiasm which exudes from every aspect of your countenance. And no doubt a virgin you are, for maybe a good fucking would already have removed that self-satisfied stick out of your perk tiny arse. Or would you be the one fucking yourself, determined as always to perform some manner of value to validate a meaningless existence fashioned around an archaic, inane idea of bred nobility? And bred you would be! Gagged too if your partner had any sense, perhaps with another fat cock stuffed between your lips or a woman's wet pussy dripping over your face.
Yes, I do believe then that the Aegir name would finally find a sense of purpose, and perhaps the rest of us would enjoy some damned peace and quiet for the first time since we started at the academy.
Yours for as long as I am forced to bear your existence in my vicinity,
A long suffering, bored, and perhaps under-stimulated Hubert von Vestra.