Loki and Eris are seated at the table staring into a glass with odd out of place smiles. A strange looking mist fills the cup with images, of what is happening. Morise not paying attention to the glass, sees Artemis.
"Erik, Eros, Leris, Loris, Liros, Eroki, Iris, Erisoki, Lokis..." Loki continues combining their names in his head saying the ones he likes out loud. He then stops. His gears turning and speaks in almost a whisper, "There is no real way to tell if this is real or another well received illusion that I've subconciously started."
These were autumn mornings, the time of year when kings of old went forth to conquest; and I, never stirring from my little corner in Calcutta, would let my mind wander over the whole world. — Rabindranath Tagore, The Cabuliwallah
