Another dusk staring out at the moons, staring at those beautiful stars, watching them twinkle in the space between the pink and green lunar halos. You sip softly at a cup of tea as you glance upward. Some of those twinkles could be ships, one might even be the flagship dark carnival. Your mind wanders But the world continues on, and reminds you once more that its there as your palmhusk dings, and then dings again. Nothing unusual, sure you don't get many texts, you're not exactly a social butterfly, but you have a nice handful of friends you have curated over the last perigree and a half hiding from the clurch. You leave the palmhusk for a moment and consider how things have gone since then. Raised for most of your life to be the tenth medium of the Grand Highblood, the Ninth had fallen bedridden and you were to be shipped off for early exile, and, you ran rather than even answer as they called to tell you orders. Had you heard an order to leave the planet by He of High Mirth himself, you are unsure if you'd have still been able to run. Brother Isidor had told you that you were being hunted, you covered your face with a veil, and holed up in your matesprit's hive. There you sayed, locked up in isolation, slowly going stir crazy from a lack of contact to your faith and friends. Your palmhusk pings a third time, and you finally decide to check. It's from a sister of the faith, one whom had promised to check in on the status of your investigation with her ancestor aboard the flagship. It was a screenshot of a conversation. The first mentions the case was closed, two perigrees ago? So to say, the 9th medium lived... The call wasn't a summons, it was a relief of duty. The second, notes surveillance is ongoing for the 'asset' in case of further inobedience. Followed closely by a picture, taken from high up, perhaps a satellite or drone? Pointed right at the hive you were in, through the window, at yourself staring up towards the stars. You close the palmhusk. ha... ha- hahahah oh-oh goodness oh goodness oh messiahs... this- this is- You were never running away, you were a hamster on a wheel. Never once did you leave your cage. Toyed with by spirits in their employ angry at the disrespect, but not the disobedience. They held back. Not once were you out of their grasp, you were being humored. It was all a grand joke, and you Ursila, were the punchline. Your laugh echoes through the hive with choked sobs as you lay on the carpet, and you swear you can hear the Messiahs laughing back at you.