"What is the mist?" A man asked himself, staring at the stars. "An extreme force? Simply a mindset?"
"My dear demigod, I am neither." A feminine voice spoke, softer than silk.
The man turned to her in his funky state. She glowed an exquisite blue, seemingly nothing but smoke. She floated around wispily, no more than a ghost, yet her features and proportions outshone Calypso.
For such a strange meeting, the man was eerily calm, something that surprised even himself.
"Then, just what are you?" He whispered, turning his gaze back to the stars.
The woman stayed silent, pondering the question.
"I suppose," She paused looking up. "A product of imagination."