"You'd already forgotten all about me, huh, you sockethole?"
It was his own voice that was sifting into Skullius' ears. It was his own face presented before him – the same blank eyes, the same nose, the same slicked-back honey-coloured hair with hints of auburn, if a bit longer and wilder.
If there were any differences, it had to be the modest but clean beard of light auburn, the gaunter overall stature, taller than his own by a full head. The new figure spotted a thick clump of clouds making apparel for his torso, like Skullius' own great nimbus robe, but they took on the shape of a sleek, four-sleeved jacket pulsing every so often with merigold Ju`wtte.
Skullius could have sworn he had seen the stylish pair of tight-fitting pants – conjured using darkness – that the figure was wearing somewhere. It must have been a memory from before.
