His involvement is essentiaclass="underline" belatedly, Susie realizes this. Suddenly the undermind bursts through. What do you expect from my child? demands Sarah Susan.
"He must tend to his mission," answers the usurper in a goatish bleat. "He must. he must devote his energies to the Thousand Unborn. And usher in the Dawn of the Thousand Young."
He is too frail, he will collapse.
Susie feels the ideation of her son brush against her cheek, licking teardrops. It is odorless, breath-textured. Inexplicably, it smiles as it slithers through the bars of the window, a slow silvery comet staining the air with a trail of luminous symbols, viscid geometries, larval letterforms.
Breathing is no longer necessary: Susie realizes this belatedly. When her body is discovered her mouth is open. In repose she appears to be glancing out the window. At midnight the sky of Providence is tinctured with hues of the morgue and the stars. To the eyes of the dead this is a scroll of endless night. with symbols and the language of Time etched on the aethers, magically descriptive, cosmic in implication.