There is the Heart of Blood, a pyramid reaching its apex down beyond the Wrong of the Beginning.
Bury me unto Thy Glory, O beloved, O princely lover of this harlot maiden, within the Secretest Chamber of the Palace!
It is done quickly; yea, the seal is set upon the vault.
There is one that shall avail to open it.
Nor by memory, nor by imagination, nor by prayer, nor by fasting, nor by scourging, nor by drugs, nor by ritual, nor by meditation; only by passive love shall he avail.
He shall await the sword of the Beloved and bare his throat for the stroke.
Then shall his blood leap out and write me runes in the sky; yea, write me runes in the sky.