Speak to remember, speak to forget.
"The cards cannot truly predict the future. They only offer perspective," Eris said. She stood with Eido at the Lectern of Divination, laying each card with purpose. "Your thoughts on their meanings will be appreciated."
Eido didn't reply; she was looking over her shoulder and towards the ritual circle at the center of the Athenaeum. Eris continued.
"Your insight into Xivu Arath's motivations avoided disaster," Eris said, trying to catch her attention. "We were able to warn Queen Mara and convince Rasputin of his error."
Eido nodded, looking down at the table. With the tip of one claw, she aligned the edge of The Adherent card with the edge of its neighbor.
"You want to ask me something," Eris said after a long pause. She had never known Eido to refrain from asking any question that came to mind, and the Scribe's new hesitance was surprising.
"Yes," Eido said, then paused. When she spoke again, it was in a whisper. "This is where it… happens? Your… transformations."
Her voice strained at the last word.
"Yes. Where the runes are most powerful," Eris answered coolly. "Here, and in the Witch Queen's oubliette."
"That word is from an old Human language," Eido said, her voice regaining a little of the cheer that Eris recognized. "Its root means 'to forget,' I believe."
"Yes, you are correct."
"And, ah…" Eido paused again, the question tangling in her throat. "Do you… forget? Who you are?"
Eris took a breath. In their research together, Eido had learned to be blunt.
"No," Eris said. "I am myself. Always."
Eido's eyes widened. There was silence. No questions, no curiosity. Only the unblinking stare of someone too afraid to speak.
"There is nothing to fear," Eris said, and she did not know if that was comforting. Eido nodded and looked away.
"Of course not," the Scribe answered. "I didn't think there would be."
Eris wondered if others had lied more convincingly.