Like moons make swell and wane the nescient seas, so too the sky-strewn gods ordain the tidal fates of mortal days. And yet - a notion born in lonely hours - come ebb, come flow, come all that is beyond the breadth of our dominion: be a moon unto yourself. Even the waves of fate can break upon the shores of will.

The alliance is reforged, mortal. The planes thus quake, and the gods shudder.

I have witnessed dar too much, and you have given me too little. Finally, I can see.

I want to wake up beside a handsome virgin every morning, but life doesn't give us what we want.

Not what will happen - what will you do. Your past is not yet lost. Your future is not yet fixed.