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It can't be more than a few seconds, but from your perspective an eon passes. Whole civilisations rise and dissolve into the mists of oblivion before she speaks again.

Fish leaping out of a tank in terror as the powdered remains of their fellows are shaken inside.

The Manus Fati with its finger on pause, just for you.

You can already see how. A lightness of the mind, a willingness to let go of yourself. You could step straight into the void with her if you dare.

An image comes to you, one you've thought about for a long time.

Not a cryptonym but a role -- keeping her another step removed from the voice on the phone.

The ruler of a future kingdom, his throne already concrete in his mind.

Words that echo of marble, drums, and banners.

You know the feeling, and how to put it into words for him.

Of course. Religion is a drug for the masses -- it's code.

There are many crimes you may commit; none worse than mediocre aesthetics.

A figure so storied that some inevitably got lost.

This is what remains after you have ripped out all attachments by the root.

But if you do anything -- even think about the stillness -- then it jumps forwards, without you even noticing.

Strip enough illusions away, and you will be left with nothing, not even the barest trappings of personhood.

Somehow you know she is right: where you are going, money will not help you.

It's a misty, watercoloured memory for her.

Pages filled with heart, with soul -- attempting to put into words the inscrutable feelings unique to these modern times.

Experimentation inside a given medium is the only way its boundaries can be discovered and transgressed.

There's at least one of these in every issue.

You've already solved two ciphers since you've returned, so they should be child's play.

You've already solved HOLOCENE's cipher since you returned, so they should be child's play.

You've already solved Tempo's cipher since you returned, so you've had a little practice, at least.

Though you are yet to solve a single cipher since you've returned. You may be a little rusty.

Seems like an acknowledgement of some kind.

Plushie #3 will bite down on the neck of the world and fuck it 'til it howls.

A life lived in a permanent state of war.

A shrine to possibility -- a shrine, perhaps, to right now.

Like a sad, dry snowball.

The beast seeks to know his audience of giants.

His courage wavers, ignite him with the flame of his song!

The sing-song boredom of a child repeating a civics lesson.

A sleeping thing, indifferently dreaming, sensitive only to the music to which it will violently awaken.

A glass chandelier on fraying rope.

Which makes it anti-person, the ultimate fashion statement.

Like a tree flaunting gnarled bark to the saplings in its shade.

Notice that the broadcast is in Mircean -- not Luzian. Dubbed for a foreign audience.

Neither sounds terribly enticing.

An armament robbed of its magic. A tragic fate.

You picture a woman going over her expenses, over and over, hoping to make the numbers fit.

The show's art style is identical to the wolf cup you came across.

A fur coat even more desirable than the one you're wearing.

Dangerous, mythical, electrifying... no wonder the kids are watching this.

For a second, you imagine her saying those words to you from the other side of a bed -- lipstick staining the pillow, hair dishevelled.

He was cheap furniture in a burning room.

Cosmonaut explorers on an alien landscape, safely concealed from the hostile environment -- and lifeforms.

Roughly: 'Defeated, but incapable of surrender.'

He means 'buy me a round'.

Fantasies of refuelling planes that no longer exist run through their eyes.

668 skill checks - ZERO PARADES field manual - Page 3 of 14