"My mother’s mark that I wear above my brow as does her brand reside upon Wytch’s Wrist. I motion her glyph upon my form with hopes that she’ll maintain Wretched’s Trist.

Awaken open wounds from flesh upon back, gaping and hungry like glutton’s whore. Feed from Eden and whisk me away to the mouth from which I was bore.

Heretic speech and muffled murmurs, widen the gap and make her glow. Separate the sun from disparaged horizons and drink in the dark from whence it flow.

Farther in to the arrow bares true that the razor of need runs a foul.

Directly it draws from dirt covered claws by the stranger shadowed in cowl.

And now further they tumble, the collection of Eden through pinched fingers fumble.

In aghast the reaction at one’s own nature; attests far from nature is the action of man."

-Sermon of Brand, Hexix Grimoire