The rank and file are prepared. After careful weeding only the true believers remain. They know of the fragile balance of life and death, about the burdens of the soul and the promise of a hereafter. But no promise of heaven awaits them, only the serenity or torment that they bring with them. Such are the esoteric teachings of Death's Door.

Alyssa has taken to her role among them. They call her Priestess and believe her to be one. The one to glimpse behind the door. The one who returned from Death out of the clutches of Oblivion to share her experience. She calls them to embrace their fears and steel their hearts for the coming journey. More than that they long to help those suffering souls that could not cross the threshold.

Truce waits patiently as he picks Alyssa up for coffee after a long meeting. She has a vibrant energy about her, the sermons empowering her with prideful confidence, though the dark circles under her eyes still remain. Perhaps even deeper now.

She smiles as she closes the passenger door behind her. "Thank you, Mystic. I stand at the Threshold," she says in greeting, one used by all initiated members of Death's Door.

Truce humors the Sleepwalker. "I stand at the Threshold, Priestess," he says with a soft smile of his own. He puts the car into drive and begins to pull away from the curb.

Alyssa puts on her seatbelt in a smooth motion. "No, Mystic. No, you traverse the Threshold in ways I could never imagine. To you the Door is like any we might open in the living world." Her admiration is chilling, though expected of a cult leader.

"Wax poetic," he remarks with a soft chuckle. "But I appreciate the sentiment. I just wanted to check up on how things are progressing. I glanced inside while I was waiting. Fewer new faces, but you haven't lost any of the old ones."

"Oh yes, Jim and Stephen are really coming along in their studies. And Clarissa and Jamie have been helping Karen out with the loss of her brother. I'm trying to collect funding, maybe put together that scholarship you suggested. Everyone's really excited for the academic opportunities we'll be giving them. And I think it'd be nice to set some aside for memorial or funeral services. You know, for when we encounter the departed."

Truce considers this and says, "I suppose that would ease the hearts of the congregation. I should think the focus should be on the living as well as the dead. Expand the minds of your members and prepare them for their roles to care for the dead and dying."

Alyssa nods, pleased with his words and claps her hands together in front of her. "Of course there still is so little funding. We may try brainstorming some fundraising ideas. Ah, the problems of the material plane." She sighs with a hint of humor.

Despite the awe she held for the veiled mysteries, she had become rather accustomed to the existence of the hereafter. Perhaps soon, Truce would provide more instruction, refining her way of thinking. They should not stray too far from the Truth with misunderstandings.

They arrive at the coffee shop, exiting the car together.

"And what about you, Truce?" she asks, careful not to use such titles as Mystic while in earshot of others. He'd taught her a little about the double-speak. And running a cult that had all the characteristics of a secret society came with some skill in subtlety. "Have you been aiding more of those on the other side?"

Truce opens the door for her before entering after. "Well, aside from those that have come to the meeting, I haven't had much time to search. That's why I wanted your help, you know."

They stand in line, taking a pause in their conversation as they order their drinks at the counter. They break that silence as they wait.

"We haven't found anyone yet either, though Karen's brother..." he trails off, hesitant to broach the subject.

"As I told you, he is no longer here. Not all who cross the Threshold carry burdens. We should all be so fortunate."

"Right, yes, I understand," she says quickly, as if she were agreeing with his assessment, or at least trying to sound that way.

With drinks in hand they head outside to enjoy the Spring weather, each taking tentative sips at their cups and observing the passerbys.

"Do you think my eyes will open one day?" she asks whimsically.

"I do not think so. Not completely. But there's something to be said for trying. If they do, you'll be the first I've heard of."

"Could you...could you show me again? You know, how it looks to see through your eyes?" She would always ask this. All too eager to be reminded of what makes her special.

Truce sighs, wondering if he should disappoint her again. The risks of other Magi observing her pattern's resonance would be unwanted attention. But it is an effective carrot to dangle before her.

He changes the subject. "We need members with placement in medical facilities, Alyssa. We need to target them specifically. I'd rather not wait for Jim and Stephen to complete their education. You need to be more aggressive in recruitment."

She looks hurt, caught off guard by what she interprets to be a reprimand of sorts.

"I...well, I can't make people decide what they believe. And doctors are so stubborn, so difficult to convince."

"I don't want you to make people believe. I want you to be better at seeing the need in others. Even professionals can feel unfulfilled and doubtful of their place and purpose. And I'm sure there are many waiting to hear what you have to share. But for the group to flourish we need those leaders to help us get established."

Truce reaches his hand over the table, as if offering comfort to a friend or affection to a lover. She looks at the hand and understands, sliding her own into his. He forms the Imago into her pattern, opening her eyes to the resonance hidden behind the Lie. Though she cannot comprehend it, she is filled with wonder. A tear drips from her eye as she stares off into the distance.

With Alyssa at the helm, the Cryptopoly would prosper. She has all the incentive she needs. Time and resources would come so long as the sheep remained dedicated.