I don't know what pedestal you think you are sitting on, or who the hell put you up there, but you are nothing more than a little pest in my day. No make that a little weasel of a girl.
I don't care if you have ultimate farsight, supreinvisibility, or all the divine gems, you will never, and I promise, never dictate anything I do in this land. Period.
Understand that you wench. The sooner you realize that you alienate yourself from everyone in Avalon, the sooner you will realize you are just a meer grain of dust in the wind of Avalon.
Blotto, tired of dealing with children.
Written by my hand on the 23rd of Midsummer, in the year 1067.