Get this: how many Weavers does it take to screw in a light bulb?'Kate folded her arms, her expression aloof. Acciper pensively scratched his beard, withholding his ignorance.'One?' ventured Vivian.Lucian's boyish face split into a grin. His body filled up with the imminent rumble of laughter.'Two Weavers. One holds the light bulb and the other one spins reality around it.

Beyond a thin veil of space stretched Existence, the frailest and most imbalanced reality of the cosmos. No one was really sure why it was imbalanced, but some believed it had something to do with the general alcohol consumption per capita.

By weaving their thoughts and feelings into the substance of reality, the Weavers had ensured anyone writing about them would secure an instant bestseller – which wasn’t particularly difficult, considering the Weavers held the strings on the one holding the pen. Those who controlled the Pattern, controlled reality.

The Weaveress squinted at the loom. While any other person would merely see a thickset of colour-flashing Threads, Ærinna saw cosmic events, destinies and the collective soul of countless beings. Some of them were about to kick the bucket and kick it well. They weren’t to die of any expected natural causes either – unless one counted being “woven out of the Pattern” either natural or expected.

Her attention was now drawn upon a boy whose imagination had the potential to change the face of reality. Unfortunately for him, Ærinna liked reality the way it was: fluid, slippery and with a brick in it. The case was quickly resolved by giving the young boy an appetite for procrastination.