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The air is thick with incense, as always, and the light of the orbs seems to hang on the smoke, pulsing and shimmering in time with the rhythm of his words. The light and smoke coalesce, and slowly the image forms, glimmering at the centre of the orbs' path. He's observed Mitsunari like this a dozen times, but the novelty never fades. Occasionally it even seems a greater pleasure than taking control of the young man directly.