My dear child,
To you it was no big deal. No one was hurt, no one pulled you over, and there is nothing in my rules that says, "Thou shalt not speed." But it was still a criminal offence, and you committed it knowing it was wrong. You knew the law, the sign reminded you, and the speed trap that your brother warned you about made it plain. You had no good reason nor good motive whatsoever to get where you needed to be in such haste; you cannot even use a distraction as an excuse.
Speeding may not seem as detrimental as murder or treason, but make no mistake: It is an offence to me. You are my child—and none of my children are above the law or greater than any pillar of society. You are commanded to obey the authorities over you—whether they wear a badge, or put a diploma on their wall, or sit behind a desk and push papers through a web of bureaucracy. You must obey them because they exist for your benefit. And if the benefit is not evident, you must obey them anyway, because that is what it means to be a good citizen, and because I obeyed the laws and customs of your world once upon a time. (Even I subjected myself to those over me. After all, as I once said to Lucy: do you think I wouldn't obey my own rules?)
With everlasting love,
Aslan
P.S.: Your professor is an authority over you. Do as she tells you and put your cell phone away. It is not right to disobey her instructions—not even to read a letter from me.
