Red rose rising, unfettered flame feeding
on skin-crusts cremated for a siren shore.
White lily withering, water wintering
teardrops that tremble 'cross the frozen floor.
Black tide breaking, metal wolves moaning
Heaven and hell hiding, all down the earthen door.
Dreams are dying, memories mourning
Howling stars hungering--evermore--
Evermore.

These words are my beacon and my invitation, lit by man-made stars, set in crumbling earth and stone. They lure me down, to crawl beneath the deeper shadows, under the gardens of the desecrated cathedral, down the metal pipe that feeds the city's black heart. A rope binds my body to the wrought-iron fence; it only needs to hold until I find the next landmark. As I lower myself in, I force my mind to surrender, blow out all the stars like little candles, let their light slowly ebb and die, and teach myself again how to embrace this darkness, for it was born in the Void, and must always be embraced. Gods dwell herein. Or so They would say.

I am seeking out the earthen door, guided by no more than fragments of memory. But it's enough, to watch myself from within; the form I have chosen, no matter how eternally alien, must now do the work for me. So I watch indeed, as one hand clings to the rope that burns its flesh, and the other reaches out, seeking along the wall's cylindrical face. It's a thing of morbid joy, to know mortality so near. One wrong move and I go tumbling into the pit beneath: down, down, to be consumed by creatures of mankind's wilder mythologies. Red-flamed soul staring up out of the darkness, black-flamed soul staring down into the darkness, meeting in the middle, ashes to ashes, consuming the darkness....

I strain to be closer to the wall. Probing fingertips sink into warm clusters of mosses and moulds--all velvety shells and squelching, gooey innards--before at last brushing over and alighting upon the telltale metal latch. Ah, hello...

I twist it open, and somewhere behind the pipe, gears awaken and grind stiffly into motion. The little world around me creaks and groans, and dull light flickers into being as another opening appears near my dangling legs. With a single belch of steam, all returns to silence. I manoeuvre myself into the close space, and pull up short just inside, perched upon the narrow ledge. After a moment spent massaging my hand, I start to untie the rope from my torso. Let the grille slide shut behind me, cover my last tracks. Once the lock swings back into place, it means everything's already decided, and oh! it's all so delightfully ominous. From here on in, I might as well be gone.

Remember to breathe, then make the drop--only a few feet this time, no room for flying--down to where the black stream trickles along the corroded earth. I land like a cat, but keep moving ever forward, my body curled to the ground, avoiding the low ceiling and the jagged wires threaded across it that crackle and buzz with electricity. Just try not to think about what's in the water.

Somewhere in the distance, I smell incense and meat, dreams and death, carried on the ghost of a breeze. An amber glow creeps over the walls, sent to guide me. I am but a shadow of my own shadow, as I slink lizard-like down the tunnel's endless curves. And ah, there it is: the dull roar of that incoherent chant floating in from the distance, cresting to no more than a breath, then swelling to a crescendo. The key--my immaculate forgery hidden on a chain around my neck--emits a series of intermittent whistles in response and starts to glow. Even the solid metal that lines this man-made cocoon begins to quiver in sympathy. Taken as a whole, the effect is a cacophony, and that makes it enchanting, even hypnotic. The perfect underscore to my Lorelei's song.

Now the voices all roll back into the empty sea--falling, rising, falling, over and over and over. I inhale again, still my heart, and remind myself that this music is no more than an echo from another time. So much has been silenced, turned to dust since then. And so much more has arisen, sharpened and steeled and set to claw at the earth and the skies, hungry for destruction and more like its own. A wolf-age... How long has it been?

I no longer remember in what lifetime I first discovered this place. Each time I return, I even have the faintest inkling that I was born here; each time the images that flash through my mind attain a greater clarity. Memories of me, bound to a table in a little room, seeing myself as a ghost of my sister, seeing myself reflected in her eyes, seeing her hand reach for my face as she lies beside me on another table. Green wires and black talons stark against white flesh and bulbs. Handprints smearing hieroglyphic signatures in blood down a concrete wall. Grains of stars drifting before my eyes, lodging in my throat. A kiss; my life-force sucked away. Heartbeats in tandem, slowing, fading. I begin to choke....

But then I blink, and I'm not so sure.

I don't need to be sure. I don't come here to flirt with nostalgia, I come here to be close to the gateway, and the madness that sings on the other side. The stars and I will soon be near enough, and this knowledge is comforting, like the certainty of disintegration and home.

And now I come to the inevitable crossroads, and the tunnel widens to let me stand tall as it splits off in two directions. The water trickles away down the left-hand path, following the smell. To the right, the amber glow intensifies. The echo of the chant swirls around both possibilities, but I know which way to go. I am not a salmon, come to find the place of my birth. I take the right-hand fork, this time. The key tingles against my skin as I step into the heart of the fire, and beyond to the wintry void.

I have been called.