A scribbly comic. It begins with the Oracle of Caeres holding her fingertips under Frey’s chin. She holds a tailor’s tape in her other hand, adjusting Frey’s hips so that she stands tall with her back straight.
The Oracle says, “If you’re going to destabilize the Empire and hasten the collapse of Imperial civilization, you should dress for the occasion. Carry yourself as if the fate of the world is riding on your shoulders.”
Frey isn’t particularly moved by this– the Oracle’s fingers or her words.
The Oracle hums. “Mm. Not compelling enough?”
She unspools the tailor’s tape and examines it nonchalantly, saying “Very well. Carry yourself as if I’m riding on your shoulders.”
At that, Frey makes a face. She tries to play it off by looking away and scratching the back of her neck.
“Now hold this, please,” the Oracle says. She passes the tailor’s tape to Frey, which the woman receives without a second thought.
Thinking better of it, Frey looks at the tailor’s tape in her balled fist, and then at the Oracle’s gloved hand on her shoulder. She begins to speak, but pauses. “Why…”
She swats the Oracle’s hand away and looks up at her, asking “Why me?”
The Oracle takes her hand away, a little bit disdainfully. She combs her fingers through her own hair, and says “That’s a good question.”
She folds her arms behind her back and passes behind Frey, like a shadow. “Perhaps I am going soft,” she says.