“You're a slave. But okay, I have a map.” she took that map from out between her breasts, “you'll see between the three kingdoms outlined, two places outlined, the first is marked 1. The second is marked 2. I know you're easily distracted. - This first place. Is the cave complex; call it what it is: it's a dungeon; subterranean, an underground system of corridors - there's no difference, again there's no difference, between your mind, the mind of the demon, and the complex itself. Its walls; its panels; its corridors, are the panels of your mind and its. A panel is the unit you stand in, in a demonic corridor. It is the one unit moving at a time that is you. Planes, it's planes that make them, in demonic, I'm saying to you, demonic geometry. Final Reality itself.

“- But the panels of your mind - They are colours and they are lies. At the end, in that maze there, its walls are flesh – you'll kill the silver lipped demon with the tongue of a thousand fingers. Get the red key, and go to this other place marked here, marked here on this map here,” she indicated it. That's where the Lucine Cast of Thrice-st have the chest with the nine scrolls - the Black Chest of the Scrolls of the Prophecies of the Queen of Waat - for which you'll need the red key, which is the demon's tongue.

“Its fingers unlock the chest – they merely pulled, the Lucine Cast of Thrice-st, this is what they do, or they can do, they merely – they have the means to do this – revealed what the key really is, and did this in a cave underground -” She smiled a slippy and sick grin off half her face bathed in weird colours he couldn't recognise, understand; barely see; but it melted his entire perspective - which was only her face. “- I was the one made that key, did so by means of my relationship with demons. And you see. They did that. But if you want – who cares what you want -

“You're a slave.

“- If you want. It's there and it's that. I sleep with demons. - Tell that to the King, there's a King somewhere - or is it Pry? I never lie or tell to Pry, I never lie or tell to Pry, I never lie or tell to Pry -”

The children's rhyme of a sick mind.

“I never lie or tell to Pry, and kiss the lips of my little bit.” She touched that thing between/below her breasts.

Her fingers came up wet from it. “And kiss the lips of my little... sty.”

New face/New colours: “That story of him that you have inside yourself. - He has been where demons were. Do you understand that this is moral because I am destroying something - something that is far, far worse. - Do you understand that this is true morality. Copulating with demons? Do you understand that? Do you understand that copulating shyly with 20,000 demons, with silver and pink and wet, and fervid, and florid, and-and doubled organs, angled - copulating with those cadaverous organs! You understand that this is true morality.”

She was clearly insane. But was it transmissible – this was Art's worry that her insanity was clearly transmissible, “You understand that this is the essence of abstract goodness? Fucking demons in the dark and eating the grease - knife and fork and bib - off their cock lips.