The water is metal, heavy like mirrors passed through millions of years. The water is him, emanating straight from his mute gentleness, directly efficient in its morganatic seize. She has the sickening impression her whole skin is going to bloom, but there are no flowers anywhere. Almost cradled by everything latent in his expression, feeling softened at first, as she sinks into that silver, under his limbs of flame now taking hold of her, she gasps for breath and

can hazily perceive her lungs now a sort of somber butterfly billowing the deep water that follows the unknown pulse. And she knows this to go further, the subterranean impulse speaks through her. The ground drinks them as if the kingly water is a rose with vertiginously downward roots.

Briefly, she has the impression of an acid sea of foam dragging her and he moves almost in human manner and provides his idea of a reassuring. "Don't worry, you'll get your rebirth from this."

Fluttered along like a scarf of sensitive breathing life, she shockingly comes to terms with his being of infinite extentions, his body the body of flashes and abysses of stories, one with and open to the terrible depths of the earth, only moving and light, ancient, phosphorescent. She's approaching the origins of the alien glistening in his look upon the world.

There is no room for fear or violence, she has been completely pulled within the essential clamors and echoes

her being, eyelids shut, sees no disharmony in being travelled through the subterranean objects

Surges of light and creation tease each other in a downwards blossoming dance her blood follows devotedly, freely

Now as the word surrounds her she is multiple and her vision encounters the hidden jewels of the world.

She clings to this world of word and body, , to the echoing geography of marmorrean sources, to the grand palace of memory. To all that will be lost in the attempt to retrieve the depths of the shining pool.

Then the masks become double again, the light twisted masks, and violently and gently he draws her out of the water. She knows it would be hard to resist. His hands could make anything evanescent. The dance continues around them, as he nods briefly and lets her go. Through what's been shattered in her blows a musical wind. She had already started to yearn for the moment of her return when the clock stroke 13 and the seen world woke up from its enchanted sleep.