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Hellraiser: Dark Inkantations (Hemisphere Fourteen)

HEMISPHERE FOURTEEN: The Calling

�Where the spirit does not work with the hand, there is no art.� - Leonardo da Vinci

(Underground Cloister)

A circulation of time bending energies, each burning into inverted candlewicks, spilling wax portals of dark visions, whispering extensions of spells that pull the imagination into previously unimagined worlds.

I drank from the chalice, drink after drink, each a complex, runic configuration of light and shadows.

How her blood flows in the soul.

Such visions.

Page after page.

The last of the blood-ink flows, the ink blot of a declarative mark, ending the final Lament Configuration, each directly whispered into existence by Leviathan, through the vessels.

And each having a personal guardian.

I gaze into the beyond.

The sophisticated music of chaos and order imprints into the fabric of the transitory, beating against the shores in relentless waves.

I look at my hands, sky gazing lines of destiny, like the curved stem of a flower of evil.

The Lament Configuration called out to me.

Had always called out to me.