( now, would an illusion know that? julian's brow (for what can be seen of it through the feathers and darkened skin that encroach and overtake many of his features now) furrows with consternation. could the devil have imagined it somehow? made it real? but then... why here? like this? in this world that clearly has been turned right-side up again? unless that's a trick, too. how many times did he desperately open doors and fling himself through portals, find himself home and then... it was all a lie. a trick.

but there were tells, he figured that out later. he just had to learn how to spot them. and eventually recognizing the obvious signs of an uncanny unreality only compounded his hopelessness, his fear and dismay. once he began to realize everything around him wasn't really what it seemed, the whole picture shattered. along with his heart. and his hope. so—consternation. searching for the signs that'll prove to him that something isn't right, trying to read between the lines like that spearpoint between his prominent ribs. too thin, all exposed. )

How do you... that trick, that—mark. I can't do it anymore. I gave it up. I gave everything up. Did he—how do you know about that?