Now she had time to think: an unconquerable, revulsion seized her, she was conscious, or so she felt conscious, for the very first time, conscious of her disgust in his captivity in reverence to the forsaken world. There would be no more encores for her, this was it. Her shoulders were starting to shake now, he was her prodigy, but so was Aon, whom actually came before him. She had fallen in love with Atlantis before she had fallen in love with the King. And she had fallen into passion with Aon’s love making before the King had ever touched her. A silhouette, profile of the king appeared in her mind’s eye, and then faded like dust.

4 At the Landing Dock

They were now pulling up at the landing dock, the smell of the thousand demonic beings flowing overhead was paralyzing—liken to a nest of bats swarming, making a black cloud as they escorted the foot steps of Phrygian, as he coughed enigmatically—and undying, save for the fact he couldn’t, he was already dead. The nostrils of everyone seemed to grow twofold, even his. As he looked about, he soon realized he’d possible be a hideous looking creature in time, possible as hideous as Buer. Then he noticed:

the imps were now descending all about, around the landing dock, (in a most peculiar way) they filled the air with a burst of bulky, shifting stench, some remaining suspended in mid air their lush corpse odors lingering: bat-lipped imps, bone-spitting imps, barrenness upon their lips—nostrils huffing like dying sows, unclean light circling within their own gloom; and murk seeping out of their wombs they had saved for this occasion; their breath came thus up from their bowels, to spill, and so it did right on Phrygian, as they flew overhead.