Kneeling humbly, you press your palms together before you and close your eyes momentarily as you pray devoutly to Mysrai, the Hermit Clad in Saffron, "I consider the pauper who panhandles in the dark alley. Despite his pleas, only coppers fell in his lap. Taking what was given, he cut coarse trinkets from fragmented dreams. He made no profit, yet he was the wealthiest man. And so the pauper with his coppers left the dark alley to become a merchant of indigo."
An echoing, papery voice murmurs, "I hear your words, My Tetra."
Mysrai, the Hermit Clad in Saffron intones, "You would walk between the veils of indigo, then?"
Tetra inclines her head to thin air.
The Hermit's eyes whirl with stars, skeins of saffron wreathing His form in a panoply of fiery light.
You say, "Indeed, my Lord..So that I may please You with Dreams and True Will in my heart."
Mysrai, the Hermit Clad in Saffron intones, "Know well, My Tetra, that each Path is but an abstraction that each blinkered Beloved might behold a path over the first steps of the Void."
Mysrai, the Hermit Clad in Saffron intones, "For truly, there is no one path, nor one way for every Beloved."
Mysrai, the Hermit Clad in Saffron intones, "Walk now amidst My Indigo, but know that My eye upon you and My Will upon you shall change little."
Mysrai's eyes gleam, stars shifting swiftly within the Void-black orbs.
Reality solidifies, mending itself into a single paradigm as Mysrai departs.
Tears flow freely from your eyes as Mysrai, the Hermit Clad in Saffron appoints you to Imago.
Softly, a hand touches your cheek, and you behold a veil of copper spotted with sapphire stars. Even amidst this, motes of gleaming, ivory moonstone and shivering, bloodlike ruby gleam, swirled within translucent fabric.
You say, "You say Your will shall not change, my Lord...Yet mine does not want to walk a path cast in the shadow of another."
"A man's not dead while his name is still spoken." - Terry Pratchett 1948-2015