My skin thinned to nothing that night. Gartua, with its worm's tongue, finally whispered my name. Through the hollow earth, and down Heather's Crown. The reek of its breath, burnt loam. Inside my long Maw, beneath the lake, there is a locked room. Black shores and silver shimmer. The dame from the Sun, under a boulder of wax. My skull, wroth and numb from the flower. Another draught. The stars have their faith in me.