And in the middle of it, bleeding ink from beneath her nails, her hair a silver storm, Calliope looked up.
She looked past the gallery, past the balcony, to the far hidden edge of the sky where a mobius-pupiled eye had hung masked and silent since the beginning.
She opened their private conduit, and this time her voice carried none of its earlier playful detachment. It was serious, and it was fast, and it was still, somehow, delighted!
My ink is running a bit dry, Osmont.|
Her pen shook over the page.
Before my Matriarch has to interfere and ruin the fun, and she will, if this keeps going the way it is going... why don't the two of us do something grand? Let us change the narrative. Or are you going to sit up there and simply watch, when the two of us together could ruin their entire theater?|
...!
Noah's masked eye held over the burning Cluster.
And then he moved!
