"That's because it isn't a bed," Tenebrae smiled. "Nor is it technically morning anymore. It's getting close to noon."

It wasn't that he hadn't understood the joke - or even that he didn't want to continue it, really, because some small part of him did. It was just that Tenebrae didn't want to stand for it. Jokes like that in situations like this were a Pleasant trademark, and a trait that Solomon frustratingly shared. Sometimes, it was amusing. Now, it was irritating. Worrying, almost, reminding Tenebrae of the fact that Wreath had been in Pleasant's sole and unhealthy influence for at least two days.

It put the High Priest in a sour mood. And being in a sour mood was not conducive whatsoever to this procedure.

"Forgive me," he added, "but no doubt some future High Priest would be very angry with me for not doing this properly. I'm assuming you remember who you are. As well as the date, if not quite the time. But do you know where you are?"

It should be an obvious question, but with how far out of it Solomon had been throughout the entire process of moving him, it paid to be sure.