"Practice," Alain told himself. "Practice, practice."

In the morning, he'd be facing the city-god for the first time since receiving his cloak and ribbons.

He'd read the lines a thousand times, repeated them under his breath a thousand more. He now declared them to his chambers, to the carved figures on his mantel, to the tiny and badly-painted figurine of the city-god that he'd carried since childhood.

He barely slept, nervous, anticipating.

The city-god just smiled at him, silent for longer than Alain could bear...

"I ALREADY KNOW."