Julius Venge and Icarus Proul met in India, traveling to getaway from where they where. To escape. Not that either of them had any justifiable reason to be frustrated, any reason to escape, at least none that anyone would sympathize with. Both of them where from well-to-do homes, good schools, and with everything that any good parent could possibly provide. But whatever story they told, and however many times they were ignored, they were frustrated. They were invisible. They were given a mold, and they had to fit into it. Both of them tried, for a while, for as long as they could, holding their breath, hoping it would feel better. But it didn’t. And when they met, they knew, because they could see it all over the other. Freedom. Freedom from the prison they had both escaped from. Freedom from the expectations, freedom from the prescription, freedom from invisibility.