Syrlya raises his brows at the clear disappointment, a frown starting to develop. "Of course that is not--you said illusion." He gestures. It is an illusion!

He lowers his hand, and while Strange is messing with the lily the figure will suddenly break back into the glittering, purple-blue energy and dissipate. It will leave only a tingle on his fingers as the flower disappears.

Syrlya looks only mildly put off as a flash of that energy suddenly bursts around him, some of the magic warping from shards to small butterflies that evaporate quickly. And what looks to be Syrlya is still standing there with a stern expression.

But his voice comes from behind Strange. "As I said, most of my practice has been in combat, and I am not going to attack you in the middle of the carnival," he states with a cross of his arms.

The illusion doesn't mimic his movements, and instead puts one hand on its hip as it regains a more neutral expression. Almost like it's independent.