Red Cabal- The Son Buried

The Ghoul-Shape attar of Ninendava, expansive into Ninen-athwart-the-Tor (itselfe construed by dynasties besitting afore the ancient crest, gold-ringéd in aging seraph-cycles), is warden'd by the Gov. of Honour, Paulus Berú, a man of sentinel piety. A castrati by Alessian rites, woefully he is ignorant of the goings-on of decadence in the decrep't man-catacombs beneathe his polity, whereas his underfamily has gone to escape his imposed monotony of existence, view'd to a quim-barbarism by aeon-beffudl'd chimera of desolation.

"Hullo a-down?"

"Hail, come down."

"Has the dusk-witch stopped her chatterin'? Herr Governor is wroth with her fer disruptin' him 'n haranguing th' attendees."

"Attendees?"

"'Tis Somny-Night, din' y'know?"

"Naught. Nay, she still chants and rambles as she did. If it is the Hour of Somnunion, which haranguing?- I must ask."

"Coronada, chapter 30th was he quoth-ing as I left. An' aye, both I warrant were givin' it goodly, but with His Honour, they were knowin' what they come fer. "

"Whereas the wherefore of her arrival is still obscure. Lucy visits her annually as per tradition, but never marks her invokations."

"As well- 'tis a dire mischief, ser."

"Alike to mine, would you say? Surely, and I find her most wise for her mutterings. The children question her now for her insights. Whether even she listens I could not aver, though she speaketh, and I deny not they hear answers."

"Children? This be Ald-Eyelid. 'Taint nowhere fer children."

"Think you not? But we are all children here; only children in the womb. Ha! Can't you tell?- I have the Heart of one, too."

"Aye?"

"Both of those too, sirrah, hid here in this box. Would you care to see?"

"Foul humour, m'liege."

"Dislike you my wit? Why not go tell my father upstairs?"

"Better fer me he know nothin'. I like him no more than you. 'Twould end with my tongue out, most like, an' if ye two killed each th' other, 'twould like be best to all."

"Your wish may yet be accommodated, if not to your delight. Go now, knave, yet jot this last: AE CALAXES VERMAI ALTADOON!"

"Come again?"

"Ne'er again. Avaunt!... Oh cherished matador, my father. Belike my horns repay thee for the critical error of mine inception. When God is Come."

Away from the minotaur's monologue, where the oracle roosts, the garish gatherers grasp to inquire of her- things diminuous & divine- as she stammering, answers, answers...