You're not a person, they say, circling. You're one of Them. From the other side.

Each morning at precisely seven, Georges, famulus to Magus Hugarth Madswom, stabbed his master in the heart. It was a fairly complicated affair as the linens needed to be spared staining and Georges had to make the thrust quickly, lest his master wake up and become angry with him for failing in his duties. He had suggested abjuring the sheets against such stains, but his master claimed that doing so also meant his sweat would pool about his body during the night rather than being absorbed by the sheets, and Georges' master refused to wake up stinking and slimy. So, no abjurations.

Yes, you're right. I can see how the ships look like the black skeletons of birds, burned and splayed across the sky. No, no, it makes sense. I just had to squint my eyes first to see it, that's all.