This morning my Lord spoke to me of his dream of the night before. And he said to me, “My dear scribe, last night as I slept, I dreamt. And this dream was as unsettling to me as the Lament Of Shattering Glass, for in it I came to an abandoned house. And from the house there flowed a river of blood, which turned the wheels of its mill. And within the house there sat a phantom with blazing eyes, who sat upon a throne of rusted metal. And this phantom showed to me his work, for at his feet there sat a bucket. And from this bucket, in each hand, he plucked a screaming child, and on the mill he placed them. And while he bent then to pick more children from the pail, the mill did grind these first two apart. And as their blood ran down into the river that turned the wheel that turned the stones that ground their bodies apart, their flesh and bones slid along a sluice. And as it did I noticed something strange, for this flesh was not dead, but alive, and as it writhed it reformed before my eyes, one part here of one joining with one part there of another, so by the time these lumps of flesh had reached the bottom of this ramp they had formed themselves into something new. And as these children drew their first breaths they fell from the ramp, into the bucket at the phantoms feet, beneath his throne of rusted metal. And from this bucket, in each hand, he plucked a screaming child, and on the mill he placed them, so that the turning of the stones ground their bodies apart.”