[X] A Prophet: You brush, gently, softly, against the edges of the slave girl's thoughts, and the contact of it shakes every layer of her being. Her heart fills with a wonder and a fear she cannot place. The candle bends in a dark wind. Whatever she was before dies in an instant, and what lives on will have a ruthless edge. Her eyes will be bright and sharp forever, and her voice will always be clear and cold, like something steel. She will speak of horizons, and far places, and the red shores which men see in dreams. She will move silently, she will carry a razor between her breasts, she will savor the taste of blood, she will be followed always by cats, she will be less than human — and something more.