In Lost Dreams the Four Were Bound

08 - ERROR - The Mumbling of Worms I

[Everything is always about her and her minge, her wiles, her child.] Jealous whispers scattered on ancient stones in darkness unknowable. Tiny voices cried in pain and envy, reverberating off silvery metal, glowing gas rippling with every word. In unison and agreement, others cried, [Be empty, be free!]

[I want to tell her.] A timid voice scraped against stone and mold, a line of dissonance cutting through the luminous mustard haze. [I want her to tell me. I want her to . . .]

[Stillborn, I know it,] another answered. [Why weren't you born dead? Why not you?]

[The blood's too thin,] a worried voice said, floating through the ethereal clouds while dancing near the abyss. [We need new blood. We need . . .] it mumbled over and over before falling off the edge of the stone sepulcher. Dropping, falling, the sound distorted and grew longer. A sick, gasping sound bubbled up from the depths of the void, silencing the voice.

[Maybe she'll take me tonight,] another voice said, dripping from the arched ceiling and causing the mist to swirl and twist upon itself.

[A belly full of nettles and life,] another broke in. [He makes me fly so high and fall so hard.]

[Dance in the moonlight, dance in the dark,] a childlike voice whispered, skipping from stone to stone.

[Don't leave me in the dark, please!] Terror roused the room, all the voices crying to meet the outburst.

[Be empty, be free!]

[Kill him,] a shade croaked, heavy dew hanging onto a metal surface as it slithered from image to reflection. [She's too good for him.]

[Just let me die.] a skeletal shade said as it danced in the ominous gloom, its bony face creaking as its canvas lips smeared wetness from once surface to another.

In response to the call, a thousand rodent teeth chattered from the endless well, forming the broken words, [Be empty, be free!]

A long, groaning sound drifted from outside the stonework prison, shuddering steps and blathering flames speaking from beyond the broken stone precipice of the place beyond. A flicker of orange at the end of the great hollow shattered the illumination. In a chorus of delight, every voice joined in a chant.

[Be empty, be free!]

[Be empty, be free!]

From the depths of the darkness at the heart of the sepulcher, one last voice joined the choir. Like a tidal wave crashing against the stone walls, it made the mirrored dome around it shake with anticipation. Gathering the rising storm of cries and moans, the voice of the gale exclaimed toward the entryway, beckoning the singers.

[Empty her! Free her!]

As the far-off light flickered, the room was silent. Lit by a mustard haze, it quietly awaited the procession that would bring it to life.