->

Dad never really tried to get you into religion, let alone any kooky, pastiched occultisms. Regardless, you WERE born into a trans-universal legacy of comedy-magic, far richer and nobler than the corporate heirdom you had been groomed for. And anyone who's ever come in contact with the magic biz knows the absolute debt that modern magic owes, if only aesthetically and thematically, to hermeticism, to spiritualism, to bastardized Egyptomania, Crowley by way of Sassacre, Blavatsky by way of Bluth, Pop-Pop by way of Hermes Trismegistus.

You murmur the item's description to yourself, consecrating it with its meaning.

"The ancient Egyptian symbol of life and rebirth..."

You stare into the hole of the loop. The loop. The loop, the loop, the loop... Rebirth. Cycle. Infinity...

>Hey, you forgot to do the inventory thing.