A vision

The grotesque morsel of maggot ridden mutton, procured from the deceased saints, has been offered unto Satan, it is a communion of black revelry, of disinhibited blasphemy, and debauched merriment. Perhaps a leisurely breakfast on these profane subjects would have delighted you and I, forgive me, the visions are imminent. Write it down down, I shall continue. The rest of the devils, have a feast, in the name of infernal misanthropic worship. The saints have been laid to waste, a profuse exposure of organs, and an obscene indulgence of their genitals, something of scornful protest I suppose. The witches fornicate, with their masters, for the eager benefit of "viands" if we may call them such, but there is a woman, grandiosely endowed, with angelic semblance and impeccable sinew. She only feasts with the fallen prince, but she does not speak, nor regard what might seem to be her sisters. She is special, and has been designated the titular address of Vivian. It is too much forgive me, I must return to my sentience.