| “ | Bear an ear to the hark of the trumpet! For upon it's seventh screech, a Heaven will be laid the beauteous burden of our infinite sin, and ire. |
„ |
A silver sun sat in lonesome in Hell's exotic ether. It's white luminosity faintly contrasting against the abundant blackness of the night sky. It's, loud, light steadily becoming overtaken by the sinister silence of the shadows as it descended to the east; Slowly fading into a dim speck of bright darkness.
- a monstrous garden. Ripe, of beasts, butchers, and grotesque gods of a multitude of faces and faith.