. Blush the sky with teardrop rips, let the blood flow free to spill 'pon the cheeks and fall, creating puddles of coy crimson. A mind slowly disintegrates, no-one tries to halt the decline and it washes away reason, the victim unable to resist submission. Corpuscular clashes with synaptic and the result transforms tragedy from the root of all sadness into an icon of blind worship. The teardrops freeze on a blank face that masks a venomous enemy wrapped in a Hood of poison that swallows the blushing sky. A cage of pitch black threads patiently studies the inner pendulum, the tick tock of search and destroy, time weaving its panic dark webs. Psychotic anxiety in the waiting room as horses dance on candle flames, the Knight checkmates his own King, the pawn is an easily taken prisoner. The coy puddles of crimson burst, shattering the mask to reveal another, a shadow-hand coils its claim, and the journey begins, cometh the Hood.