“Plays it like an accordion of organs.

“Does this recount an image? First you'll see that demon, this is the place, I commend and contend, I contend that Thrice-st The Lucine Cast of Thrice-st are worthy of condemnation/commendation for this, is there any difference?” She was rattling off at a pace that was mania; she was mania; she spoke to him through waves of spinning colour now that were lies turned up to a frequency that made them mania, pure untrammelled mania in the absolute religious essence of it:

a kind of mania that was demonic,

a kind of mania that was religious, in its aspects, in its connection to organs, he felt that, he felt it all realign out of her, with - he didn't know if it was hatred connected to - but in her communication with him this mania was required because it fed her child.

Art tried to understand what she was saying.

“This is why you are required. - You'll enter the demon pit of the demon whose tongue has a thousand fingers; it's an underground cave system of mazes and complex colours, the very panels of which, the very walls of which are colours made out of lies; this is obviously why you are required.

“This system, there is very little difference between it's structure/between what it is, in terms of the colour of lies and the structure of, in fact, who cares, I'll just say,” she lent forward in that minute; in that instant just for a second:

below her breasts, there was, directly between and below, a mysterious pink fold of flesh that he did not understand; that/its - it unmistakeably had this – eye, attached -

- lit in his mind an inferno whose final scope was the destruction of his entire mind/identity/his -

”your mind itself - there's very little difference between the fact that that place is your mind; that it's your mind - it is your mind - and only you can understand it because – connected to supernatural organs – the structure of your mind, the structure of your mind -”

“I -”

He fought to dispel an image of a supernatural organ, that despite all of his - indeed, that this was what he was: Art[ion] Mlckk'n Inchance-rify, the Knight of the Multicoloured Organs - this was who he was, and indeed who they said he was, despite this, his evidently being a being equipped with the same species of organs as her, he felt, supernatural, connected obviously to that place that generated want: a thread all the way to the catastrophe somewhere at the end of his brainstem, a corridor taking him all the way to it.

- It wasn't just story, and narrative, and this quest, and of his having to be in one, it wasn't that at all - he was a slave.

Because she'd made him mad. And that want, that only minutes before he'd had no empathy to accommodate – for her - was the entire structure and being of his identity and mind itself. He had seen something, something truly strange, truly bizarre, and truly deranged, connected to the final source of all derangement itself. He'd seen the sex of the Combination still raised on that throne before him.