Wonthelimar says: “I remained at thousands of stations to reach this moment. I drank the resinous hemlock, believing it would burn the hells within me, and ardent laments that have burned my ruins that stand today, that overflowed us with love from the third century, every twenty-second of August of the memento mori that reminds us that you will not die, my beloved Marielle, that now they carry us from the ford of the Cocytus to sheathe your reborn privileges from the other index of Nuremberg Burg; I tell you that the specters that will come from there will be considered the tortured and battle-hardened ones who escaped on their steeds, on which the accused jumped from the heights of such towering hills of the Moritzberg, so as not to be imprisoned in Hades. There are already enough retinues migrating from the Burg Castle!

The promise of the Sponsum came from Patmos; Vernarth sent Alikantus bringing the agreed dedications of the coming future for no intervention, nor regulatory breach, nor any spell known to her of the Betrothal. The betrothed, much less by hidden magic that snatches the granted Marielle from her legitimate suitor, strictly according to the purpose of the epistles consigned in the jurisdiction of the steed Alikantus to appear and strengthen the commitment by arranging the stability of their ceremony, unilaterally resolving without any sanction other than the loss of the guarantees if they had been agreed upon, providing ties or bonds that survive further from a transcendental separation than thousands of years fleeing from one another.

Marielle reveals: "Just as I have confessed to you, there is nothing that stops the pulse of two hearts, nor time that determines its consequence, concerning the heirs of a world without rules or conditions, which is what predominates due to my devotion to a pre-contract already expedited in the Cave of Sfendoni, I admit my I am deceived by perfidy so as not to harm my father, but I don't know what to say if nothing in the world can sympathize with my happiness."

The liturgical and festive ritual would begin with the sounding of the reveille. The game of possession was made manifest by the telluric movements of the Mysterium of both timeless beings, toward the sacred, creating a venerable atmosphere of rivalry very similar to pre-Roman Hispanic competitions and the Celtic Ordeal. It shows Christian fetishes and saints mourning the jubilation and chanting of Epidaurus, perhaps from the last chorus of Sophocles, attached to a struggle of anti-tragedy:

Tragedy of the Kyrios

"Let us speak of pausing from where the zephyr strikes us

as Kyrios honor us with seas and victorious people

of vanquished plagues and suburbs of gods kneeling before the

temple that raises prayers and baptisms of patrons that not even the

grim reaper would believe upon seeing herself buried in Agios Andreas.”

Assume the banquets and tenors of their seasoned accent,

that not even the holy offices will know how to diminish a Kyrios…

nor exhibiting the enthroned horse of the Burg castle,

and its rider evading the dungeon of ****** grudges…”

Sophocles' Anti-tragedy:

“Antigone, vastness that changes the brief for the extensive,

will persuade me, that setting the firmament ablaze with trembling

may the same things happen without my realizing it,

that nothing is more fertile than the cowbell of my beloved Oedipus

That nothing belongs to Oedipus nor Kyrios, supernatural shepherds

will only be Helens exhausted from brandishing their swords for the

flutes that dance with the wings of a moth, and of three five

that are more than two wings folded around the leader.

Ego or Idiots, I Myself; I declare you floripondios of the pantheon,

I declare you Ta paidiá mou, my full children of the leader…

who raise their heads with my Lucerne and anniversaries of

lower Patmos, anointing temples with blinded lamps…

I declare you patron saints, and lords of my Hades.”