Dearest Diggory,

It has been a long time since I last sent you a letter, for which I sincerely apologise. The adventurers have arrived early, and in full force. They are a constant nuisance. They intrude upon my property, leave the doors open, don't wipe their feet on the mat I left out for them, make off with my belongings and even make attempts on my life. I am a spirit, so of course I cannot permanently die, but I worry so about my hats. Five of my hats were missing upon the last count. They are fragile, made of only the finest material, and I placed them in separate chests to keep out the cold and the damp. I turned out the lights in my vintage hat museum so that the light would not cause the colours of the delicate felt hats to fade, and some foolish White Mage cast a Light spell in the middle of the room! I fear that those rowdy barbarians do not understand the subtleties of hat care and will not be able to give my creations the respect they deserve. Why, most of them have cat ears, and the hats (this batch being designed for humans) would not even fit on their heads! The Regional Final Boss will be furious at me for losing the hats – they were tailor made for a visiting foreign Level Boss, who is fond of traditional large black spiky hats, and with whom it was hoped we could negotiate an alliance. However, I more than doubled my quota of adventurers defeated, which will somewhat curtail his anger. This hallowed labyrinth, which it is my solemn duty as a Final Boss to guard for all of time, will be silent for a good while yet, and the reputation of the Worshipful Guild of Level Bosses is upheld for another day!

I hope that next time we meet, you will be wearing the blue robes. They are my favourites, as they bring out the colour of your eyes so marvellously. I miss your winsome smile, full of fallen elegance. I have made another hat based upon the design of your crown, and I hope you will agree to model it for me. When I am Area Final Boss of Nintendo, and own a chain of haberdasheries all over the world, you will be the face of my company, and you can model all my new designs, and can also stand eternal vigil over my major store in Fourside, Eagleland as the Resurrected Lich King of Doom (or whatever – the only name I could think of for myself was 'Ultimate Ghost' so I am not the best person to ask for advice about Level Boss stage names).

By the way, I apologise for dropping you on your head last week - I heard adventurers at the door and instinctively panicked, and I completely forgot I was holding you. Upon your advice, I have bought myself some hand cream. I am having a lot less trouble with clammy hands, but it is costing me a fortune - why do they package it in such tiny quantities? Do you know if there are any factory shops that sell it in bulk or anything like that? It would be best if it was a place that did deliveries, as I am forbidden to travel far from my eternal haunting grounds.

May Giygas keep your dreams safe until our next meeting.

Yours longingly,

Eugene (the Ultimate Ghost)

Beloved Eugene,

I am relieved to hear that you are well and have respawned after the last fiasco. I long to see you again, and often dream of your strong embrace and that chilling stare of yours, although next time, could you kindly abduct me slightly later in the day, so that I can eat my breakfast first? There is nothing to eat in the Dungeon of Hats except cave mushrooms, which taste distressingly of quorn. Although please don't leave it too late, otherwise the Chancellor might find me first, and I shall have to do the Paperwork. I'm not sure if Final Bosses have to do Paperwork but it is the bane of a King's life. The only thing worse than the mounds of bureaucracy I have to deal with is the constant stream of petitioners who turn up in the morning, all trying to yell over each other to attract my attention about the pettiest concerns, and the courtiers, who are back-stabbing gits who watch my every move for the slightest sign of weakness. I can only show my True Self, and express my feelings, when I am with you. I feel that you will never judge me. Whether that is because you already have me locked in a cage whenever you see me, and therefore don't need to play power games, it doesn't really matter to me. Sometimes it feels better to let someone else dictate your fate than to be constantly struggling and never getting anything done in life. I was afraid of you at first, but I slowly realised that I feel much safer in your hands than in the heart of my own Kingdom. Except when you drop me. Please try not to.

Upon the subject of national security, I would like your advice. The town guards, who are woefully understaffed due to budget cuts, have been hiring foreign mercenaries, hence all the cat-eared individuals with swords wandering around. They are completely incompetent, they retreat from battle after taking only a few swings, at least half of which generally miss, and have often been observed to suddenly trip on nothing and fall over as they walk along. They charge two Play Coins each per campaign. They speak no English, and only meow belligerently at me when I try to haggle with them. The budget cuts were caused by an economic shortfall in the first place, and it is no solution to hire useless, overpriced felines! Could you lend me some Undead warriors or something? In return, I could find some extra storage space for the hats in the castle dungeons, and I shall charge a two Play Coin entry fee to discourage adventurers.

I patiently await you, and shall try and dissuade the High Priest from putting holy water in the garden sprinklers and wallpapering the corridor with pages of scriptures so there are no more nasty surprises. I shall wear the blue robes as requested (my other robes are all in the wash anyway, as I have been instructed that I must not smell of cave moss while court is in session), but I will have to pass up on the offer of a hat model/Lich King of Doom position for now, I'm afraid. I am not as self-confident about my image as you are, and I fear that ever time I put on my crown, I look like my head is the site of an endless battle between my hair some kind of colourful new species of Metroid. I have been told that my facial expression makes me look, and I quote the Chancellor, who is wise in all things, 'like a complete stoner'. More importantly, the job title appears to suggest that I would be dead. I would greatly prefer not to be, although I realise that I cannot hold back the tide of time, and once I reach the time when I start thinking of such things in earnest, I shall be sure to take into consideration the possibility of future Lichhood rather than a traditional burial. Especially if I get to wear black spiky armour.

Your loyal friend,

His Highness, King Diggory of Mii Plaza