As soon as one sees past the vale of madness, his fellow lunatics believe him deranged.
For it is the Inmates who now run the asylum, once the Game of Gods has been packed away.
Gospels of the Signless, Teachings II, Verse six.
The streets where sombre that night, Karkat reflected. He couldn't see why. The Tyrian Tyrant had fallen. There was no law to state this world of children should mourn the mad queen's passing. He shrugged it off. He passed a few small coins to the stall holder; a towering mantis-lusus. The Creature hissed appreciatively and sliced a few thin slivers of the slab of grubloaf, passing them to the young troll. He thanked the shopkeeper and, with the last of his groceries in hand, began the long walk home. The Moons where setting, the sun would soon take there place. He picked up the pace. No way was he getting stuck out in that, He wasn't a total fucking moron. He unlocked the door and let himself in. His lusus was absent again. Well of course he was. Those fish wouldn't catch themselves and as a semi-aquatic lusus, Crabdad was perfectly suited to a trawling job, immune to both the great pressure and the song of the Royal Lusus. It was one of the few jobs drones couldn't perform, as Gly'bglob liked to vent her frustration on her old charge's little toys. The Empress had been most Irked when she found her Tin Soldiers had been pummeled by her own lusus. But even she was powerless against the Horrorterror's Emissary. What kind of driveling, noofsniffing, empty headed eejit would raise even a finger against a beast who could end lives with one murmurer?
No. The Mad Queen had been thoroughly psychotic, but she wasn't stupid.
From the shadows, a figure watched. Deeming it safe the figure rose. A pair of spiraling horns and a form too tall for anyone but a highblooded young troll were all anyone saw before the figure vanished.
The Son of Vantas would rise, she told herself, and then the Prophecy may begin again.