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From within nine worlds, eleven spheres and crooked angles. Four alchemical conduit worlds, or the highest or lowest pantheon realms of sterile rivers and the accursed firebrand torn asunder by avian hellions. Be it the origin of the golden Hellenic or the shimmering Aesir. The holy and unholy feminine will gather at a 54 minute crossroad feast of 9 courses to subjugate their ravaged supplicants with an opus bereft the warmth of a womb, with an ageless affront towards all life, the torrid lusts of all the damned seeking adulation in the motherly embrace of the outmost darkness. For you all this will be a bacchanal of matriarchal sovereignty, a sublime and perverse infancy that will allow you all to know the mother(s) with a thousand names. The goddess larvae of the black soil. Come all ye seekers and ecstatic revellers. All hail the witch-queen.