Her hundred perfect likenesses follow her, passing through one another though each is solid to the eye. Some try to cling to her robes; some cringe at her feet in fear; some pull away, though remain as though held by chains. Some whisper hatefully in her ears; some plead tearfully; some scream in wordless rage or terror. The sound is no more than a faint sussurus, though their hoarse words may be made out by any who choose to listen.
Her hair and her robes remain unruffled, except by the occasional draft.
Her Servants
The Oracle is often petitioned by people who have suffered some loss, or who desire an unattainable redemption, or who simply have no direction in life. Sometimes they will ask her, — What shall I do? — and to this she will sometimes respond, — You shall serve me.
She chooses her servants as she does all else: wisely.
She is served by a small group of people, of various ages. In times of prosperity, she may have as few as five servants, and those generally older; in times of ill fortune, she may have as many as twenty. All wear the same style of white robe that she (and her images) wear; they can and do speak freely, though they tend towards silence. They do not accompany her during an audience; those are kept private.
To each visitor, she herself voices only one phrase: a greeting, in the listener's native language, in what they consider to be an educated but familiar accent. (This has included sign languages.) All other conversation is carried out by telepathy (when words are required) or telempathy (where not); she seems to prefer the latter.
She has never exhibited anger, or even displeasure.
Edit 2009-05-19: Inserted horizontal rule. Everything below it is useless — or everything above it is box text.
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