"How could such a thing be," mused the Raven Lord to Himself. He'd sprung up as much as a being of indescribable form could be imagined and set to work tearing His library apart.
While it was true that even He could never truly know which realites, which possible tomorrow's, would come to pass until they did his predictions were very rarely wrong. And even then not by much.
"Something trivial, something basic, submolecular," He muttered, eyes flying over the eldritch pages of his darkest tomes. "Hair colour, appetite, pheromones, those I can see.." His finger slid down a list of entries, each scrawled by His own hands, until it came to a stop, mid page.
"Catherine Dumitrescu" was displayed quite predominately under it, with an exhaustive and almost invasive list of predictions about her categorized in smaller print just beneath. The only one He cared about though was that the Catherine he'd chosen was completely self-aware.
"Two errors, and each so dire. Hrm.." The implications actually concerned Tzeen'neth, the most obvious being that the nature of Catherine's true power put her much more on par with a creature like Himself than He could tolerate. She was obscured from His gaze.
Not one to dwell on set-backs Tzeen'neth's attention shifted back to the Maze, and He once again projected His discordant voice through the realm in an attempt to startle His rat.