A thing of infectious persuasion burrows its way into the far corners of being, and though incapable of dreams, a routine cause of nightmares. A furnace of mechanical fatalism, infinitesimal reason and will inversely proportioned, driven by an insatiable voracity for its own identity recast. When mirrors meet, a mute rhythm is set to pulsate in aimless vibrations, echoing within the tenuous hollow of that living kernel. Inside every fibrous enclosure a factory of effigies quietly drawls away, in continuous, seductive murmurs. It is only when the host amicably offers her own shelter, and as the walls close in on themselves, that in one stroke she guarantees immortality.