It was pure chance “God” stumbled upon the newcomer to his home away from home. It was late now, for whatever arbitrary time cycle was picked out for the people who lived up here. The light in the middle was dimming a great deal, bathing the veritably cavernous interior of this place in a warm, soft glow – enough to make out where one was going. Ora Keen had spent most of today – if what cycle the centre-light here obeyed could really be called a day – amongst the Angels, specifically those he had commissioned to inquire into the nature of the universe. Had he left their designated zone to head back to his home any later or earlier, perhaps he would have missed the newcomer. With the golden twilight that ensconced the inward-curving land, both sets of Keen’s eyes focussed on the unfamiliar figure as he strode towards it, leaving him slightly unsettled when his black pair could not easily pick up any heat coming from the creature’s body. And though Keen approached from the figure’s a back, he had no sense that he was moving unnoticed. But for the sake of convention or habit, he cleared his throat to announce himself. “We don’t often get visitors here,” he opened candidly.

Eyes acted on it. Satu could feel them when it was beheld, knew their focus was on it. The approaching stranger was no different for a time. It thought whatever was watching it would soon avert their eyes as all the others had. However, distance closed and still the eyes watched it. This one meant to engage? Perhaps. And that was fine. And that was fun. It was rarely afforded much amusement since the theft of its desire to seek it. It didn’t turn or openly seem to acknowledge the approach of “God,” but soon, it’s unvoice returned the greeting. “Do you not? This one has never been here before. Nor has it seen a world turned in-side-out.” The voice faded so well into nothing that one might wonder if it ever existed in the first place.

The voice of the creature caught him off guard, leaving him wondering at it rather than the message it carried until the words had all but disappeared and he was forced to actively recount them from some subconscious memory, as though someone had called him out for not really paying attention to them while they were speaking. He thought better than to mention this though. Perhaps one of the last things a guest wishes to be told when they have entered your home is that they sound unusual. Noting all the conundrum of the voice, as well as the possible disrespect of not facing him when it spoke with nought but a curious tilt of the head. “Do you like it?” Keen asked, deliberately allowing the pride in his tone to imply it was by his hand that this was possible. The question was not meant to be answered, he brushed it away by continuing. “To what do I owe the pleasure of your coming?”