“I doubt it's any effort, ” tuning in the Orach, at least adding to it a greater measure of conscious attention - if it was that:

“I understand not just your dreams, why you dream them, why you have to, what they are premised upon, loaded upon, founded upon, and why and for whom; but I understand this - this is what I am, in the same detail, for every single one of them – there is no difference – of all of them out there. Why lie? You'll enjoy it more if I don't.

“The Lucine Cast of Thrice-st – their loyalties ambiguous, their final scope ambiguous, stole, they stole from me – I'm presenting you the story, right? - this is the quest – the scrolls, the accuracy of which are the foundation of my power, in formal terms, this is what we say, anyway. - If the scrolls are wrong, or right, in the wrong fashion, if they tell the truth, a little too precisely, it's alike, in that sense, and everything collapses.

“There's something very like that that Pry wants you to find here. In these scrolls, and collapse me, my kingdom, my temporal power, by revealing this information - as if that means anything. Try your best. Have at it.”

She comforted the tiny creature in a fashion that for Art was a little too mechanical, a little too like, for her it was exactly the same thing as wringing its neck. She dropped it on the sand. - Poor blighter scurried off. Fast.

“Everything reinforces me. Including, if you find anything in there that says, well, let's just say, anything regarding my son.”

She paused and lightly touched her own supernatural organ, a mirror, in that moment, he felt, of his own. Of one of his own. Perhaps both. The thought disturbed him. Like she did. It was a new vagina beneath her breasts.

“This is your weird rituals; how you made the child, you consciously made him, didn't you - you constructed him by,” finally, as it related to this woman, “means that were,” the Orach was telling him something, “all too deliberate - all too a part of something already put together by means of the various apparatuses, if that's the plural, of your mind,” for a second he wanted that word not to be singular. Like maybe minds. This woman was gross, to him; she was very gross.

He skeeved her.

“All of that being said,” she said, “Since everything reinforces me; even whatever you might find, disseminate, reveal, on behalf of... I fear no revelation purportedly revealing that the things I do are evil. I. Do. Not. See. Them. Like. That. - I am consciously aware of how things, certain, could be depicted, let's say. But. I. Do. Not. See. Them. Like. That. Do you understand? And I'm,” she spat, “A fucking Cyclops.”

He stared in her double eyes and recognised, did not want his conscious mind to linger on it especially, which was what she wanted for some reason, that this was – these – the invocation of the race to which she pertained - were not the singular ocular passages to which she was referring and he was obligated to contemplate that.

“I've predicted terrible events and then they occurred, you understand. You understand the process here. So this is a cast that officially want to reveal that – it hardly matters – they want to reveal the predictions I made about – you're a slave – I don't even know if I understand it anymore – they're out there; The Lucine Cast of Thrice-st – they come from Thrice-st – you can summarise the socio-political consequences of that in your mind momentarily for a second if that's something you wish to.

“– There's a cave complex; there's a system; there's a revelation tangled up in how my power is regarded - why be even more specific than that? It hardly matters. It hardly matters what I say. Whether it's my son, whether the prophecy, in these 9 scrolls, in this chest, for which you of course require the red key - this is something you require, and there's the obstacle that you'll have to surpass to get to that, fine and it's all, fine, this – it requires killing a demon who sips the breath off your lips, manipulates your soul with its thousand fingers, the thousand fingers of its yellow tongue?

“Plays it like an accordion of organs.