[It was not uncommon for the Nun to want to speak to the King. Franz had declared that she was a "spiritual advisor" to him, a role meant to help steady him during the most tumultuous period of the Grand War. What exactly they spoke about together was unknown. No guards or servants were allowed to interrupt them, let alone even be near his office during it. Sometimes the meetings would last a short while, thirty minutes or so. Other times, they would last for hours. But no matter how long they were, the Nun always left with a contented, assured smile on her face, and Franz would emerge, quiet and forlorn. His rugged face somber and his red hair matted down with sweat,]

[He looked ashamed.]

[But one evening, things seemed to have gone differently. Their discussion, whatever it was, had become heated enough that you could hear their voices, faint but audible, through the heavy bronze door. The once gentle and serene voice of the Nun had become shrill and shrieking, and the voice of the King roared as if he was drilling a command into his men. There was the sound of fists slamming against a desk and the clatter of furniture being moved or tossed.]

[Some claimed that, from what they heard, Franz refused to do something for the Nun. Perhaps something to do with funds or money as the Nun had mentioned once or twice a debt that Franz owed. Others said that the Nun had remarked on the recent battles of Raven Grove and the Levitsky Sacrifice Monument on how bloody they were (and she made particular emphasis on the number of casualties too). Other words, some unfamiliar and some archaic, were heard: "Kriegsherr," "Tlamacazqui," "mag-mater, "kill-calf," and "you-tuk-u."]

[Perhaps the most unexpected outcome was, however, when Franz burst from the room in a furious panic, blood dripping from his nose.]

[He looked disgusted.]