" gold light burned faintly.
From his cosy window seat, Mario was tracing a frost-flower on the windowpane with an unsure finger. Were its perfectly-rendered geometric patterns a product of nature, or were they an artefact of metaphysics? Was the frost-flower to the Masters what a work of Art was to him? Did the Masters of Strings truly control every aspect of reality?
The fractal flower slowly melted under Mario’s fingertip.
“No work of chance here,” he bitterly thought. “This was by design. "

― Louise Blackwick , The Underworld Rhapsody