games/competition2000/inform/never/never.wlk

[ WARNING: HERE BE SPOILERS!

This transcript is a complete solution of Nevermore. Consult it at your
peril. You have been warned. The HINTS command from within the game is
probably what you want instead.

You're still here? Oh very well, then. If you insist.

It's not the only possible ending, by the way. Just an ending.

END WARNING ]















Start of a transcript of
NEVERMORE
An Interactive Gothic
by Nate Cull, 2000.  Type ABOUT for instructions.
Release 10 / Serial number 000928 / Inform v6.21 Library 6/10 
Standard interpreter 1.0 (1F) / Library serial number 991113

>restart
Are you sure you want to restart? y

[ Once upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered, weak and weary,
  Over many a quaint and curious volume of forgotten lore
  While I nodded, nearly napping, suddenly there came a tapping,
  As of someone gently rapping, rapping at my chamber door.
  "'Tis some visitor," I muttered, "tapping at my chamber door --
  Only this, and nothing more."]

NEVERMORE
An Interactive Gothic
by Nate Cull, 2000.  Type ABOUT for instructions.
Release 10 / Serial number 000928 / Inform v6.21 Library 6/10 

Study (on the velvet couch)
Stone walls, wreathed in shadows and velvet curtains, rise into the gloom
overhead. The old oak writing desk -- once your father's, now your own -- is
wedged beneath the window lattice, with a velvet couch before it. A low fire
smoulders in its ancient hearth. To the southeast, a bust of Pallas sits atop an
arch with darkness beyond.

>about
NEVERMORE is a work of Interactive Fiction by Nate Cull (culln@xtra.co.nz),
written for the 2000 IF Competition, and based very loosely on the poem "The
Raven" by Edgar Allan Poe. All box quotes are from the www.eserver.org text of
the poem. Everything else is original, bears no relation to any known literary
work or historical fact, and is quite probably indicative of some deep
unresolved psychological trauma in the author's childhood. 

For help at any time, type HINT. To see if the game is still winnable, type
WINNABLE. 

Thanks to: the ifMUD gang at http://ifmud.port4000.com for support with Inform
coding lore and a constant supply of monkey jokes; Admiral Jota and the Emily
who is not called Emily, for help with Latin; and various betatesters including
Peter Berman, Doug Jones and Nick Montfort. Also, to L. Ross Raszewski for his
wonderful Hints.h hint library. 

You are granted unconditional right to freely copy and distribute this game, in
any form, as long as it remains unaltered. This includes the right to commercial
redistribution. If you obtained this game on a CD-ROM, or as part of any other
commercial distribution, you should be aware that you do not owe the author or
any other entity anything for playing or copying it. 

The latest version of this game, including any bug-fixes or enhancements made
since the Competition, can be found online, in the Interactive Fiction archive
at ftp://ftp.gmd.de/if-archive. Along with every other piece of free IF known to
humanity - but that's another adventure, and you'll probably need a guide, as
the gmd.de archive is BIG and has lots of dark windy tunnels. Many a nostalgic
websurfer has gone in and never been seen again. We try to warn them, but... 

If you have difficulty finding the latest version, or you would simply like to
talk to a human about this game, post a message on the Usenet newsgroup
rec.games.int-fiction, or failing that, feel free to email the author. 

Dedicated to: Alex. Want corknut! Awwk! 

>get up
You get off the velvet couch.

Study
Stone walls, wreathed in shadows and velvet curtains, rise into the gloom
overhead. The old oak writing desk -- once your father's, now your own -- is
wedged beneath the window lattice, with a velvet couch before it. A low fire
smoulders in its ancient hearth. To the southeast, a bust of Pallas sits atop an
arch with darkness beyond.

You hear the tapping sound again.

>examine desk
A relic from Byzantine days, perhaps. It was the first piece of furniture you
touched as a child, and the oldest you have seen in all your travels. Simply a
slab of polished oak, with four curiously carved legs, and nothing more. On the
desk are a paper sachet, an oil-lamp and Concerning Immortality.

A quiet knocking reverberates through the walls.

>get sachet and lamp
paper sachet: Taken.
oil-lamp: Taken.

The gentle tapping sounds again.

>examine sachet
A thin paper envelope, of the kind in which exotic substances are stored. The
sachet is closed.

A staccato rap echoes through the room.

>open it
You open the paper sachet, revealing coca powder.

A quiet knocking reverberates through the walls.

>taste coca
Normally coca leaf would be chewed, but this new powdered variety is best
administered by sniffing through the nostrils.

A staccato rap echoes through the room.

>sniff it
You inhale a quantity of coca powder.

A sense of raw alertness rushes through your nerves, setting them all on edge.

>se

Hallway
Stone columns, either side of the northwest arch to your study, brace the
ceiling, whose upper reaches are lost in darkness that your lamp cannot pierce.
The hallway winds deeper into the tower to the northeast; but a faint wisp of
draft seeps in from the south.

There is silence for a moment; then the soft rapping returns.

The coca rush fades, but the sense of alertness remains.

>s

Portico
The great iron gate to the south, black as time, stands here to seal the tower's
entrance.  A dark corridor, worn by countless centuries of forgotten feet, leads
back north into the cryptic maze which you -- and in those brief, happy,
vanished days, Lenore -- once called a home.

There is a sudden scratching and scrabbling beyond the iron gate, as of some
creature seeking admittance. Then the sound is gone as quickly as it came.

>[ "'Tis some visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door --
  Some late visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door; --]

open gate
You unbolt the great iron gate and swing it slowly open, revealing the night
outside.

A quiet knocking reverberates through the walls.

>s

Stairs in the Cliff
Here at the tower's brink, a sheer staircase carved into the living rock falls
down the cliff into blackness. Behind you, to the north, stands the great iron
gate. The tower rises above you, shapeless and gaunt; the night is bleak, windy,
with all moon and stars fled, leaving only the unfathomable emptiness of the
distant plain, invisible far below.

A small bright object glitters halfway down the cliff, well out of reach.

Out of the silence comes a quiet sense of motion, as if some creature were
circling further around the tower, searching for a more subtle approach. The
lamp gutters erratically for a moment. The sound retreats; perhaps it was simply
your fevered imagination.

>examine object
Is it -- it must be the key that you threw away last night, swearing never to
touch those things again, after Lenore -- oh, why did you throw it away?

>get it
The tiny thing is too far down the cliff for you to retrieve safely. If only
there were some friend -- but without Lenore, you are truly alone.

>d
Even with a lamp, you would not chance these stairs in the darkness. The merest
slip would send you plummeting.

Lightning forks the sky overhead, followed immediately by clamouring thunder.

>in

Portico
The great iron gate to the south, black as time, stands here to seal the tower's
entrance.  A dark corridor, worn by countless centuries of forgotten feet, leads
back north into the cryptic maze which you -- and in those brief, happy,
vanished days, Lenore -- once called a home.

>close gate
You pull the great iron gate to and bolt it carefully.

>n

Hallway
Stone columns, either side of the northwest arch to your study, brace the
ceiling, whose upper reaches are lost in darkness that your lamp cannot pierce.
The hallway winds deeper into the tower to the northeast; but a faint wisp of
draft seeps in from the south.

>nw

Study
Stone walls, wreathed in shadows and velvet curtains, rise into the gloom
overhead. The old oak writing desk -- once your father's, now your own -- is
wedged beneath the window lattice, with a velvet couch before it. A low fire
smoulders in its ancient hearth. To the southeast, a bust of Pallas sits atop an
arch with darkness beyond.

The tapping sound resumes, more insistently than before.

>listen
The sound is definitely coming from somewhere close at hand.

>open window
You swing wide the shutters, letting the cold night air gust into the room.

In a sudden flurry of wings, a night-black raven flits through the lattice and
into the room. It circles silently, fixing you with a baleful stare, then folds
its wings and roosts on the bust of Pallas, above the archway. Her marble hair
moves with a slight 'chink' as it lands.

The curtains billow gently in the draft.

>[ Ghastly grim and ancient Raven wandering from the Nightly shore --
  Tell me what thy lordly name is on the Night's Plutonian shore!"]

examine pallas
The eyes of Pallas, Greek goddess of Wisdom, stare back at you from white
unblinking marble, under locks of pale sculpted hair. She of all the Classical
pantheon was your patron; though now after the horror your studies have wrought,
it is hard to look her in the face. 

The raven perches precariously on Pallas' hair, regarding you with an unblinking
eye.

The curtains billow gently in the draft.

>examine hair
The sculpted hair of the goddess Pallas is cunningly hinged, so that the bust
can be opened without this being immediately obvious. You cast the bust
yourself; this was a feature of your own design.

The raven shifts slightly on the bust of Pallas, with a soft 'chink'.

An icy gust from the window sends the curtains reeling.

>touch hair
You tip back the goddess' sculpted hair, revealing a hollow space inside the
bust, inside which you can see a peyote button, an opium pipe and opium resin.

The raven flaps haughtily, then settles on the bust again.

>[ Respite -- respite and nepenthe from thy memories of Lenore!
  Quaff, oh quaff this kind nepenthe and forget this lost Lenore!"]

get all from bust
peyote button: Removed.
opium pipe: Removed.
opium resin: Removed.

The raven shifts slightly on the bust of Pallas, with a soft 'chink'.

The curtains move softly, caressed by the breeze.

>se

Hallway
Stone columns, either side of the northwest arch to your study, brace the
ceiling, whose upper reaches are lost in darkness that your lamp cannot pierce.
The hallway winds deeper into the tower to the northeast; but a faint wisp of
draft seeps in from the south.

The raven flutters after you.

>s

Portico
The great iron gate to the south, black as time, stands here to seal the tower's
entrance.  A dark corridor, worn by countless centuries of forgotten feet, leads
back north into the cryptic maze which you -- and in those brief, happy,
vanished days, Lenore -- once called a home.

The raven flutters after you.

>open gate
You unbolt the great iron gate and swing it slowly open, revealing the night
outside.

>s

Stairs in the Cliff
Here at the tower's brink, a sheer staircase carved into the living rock falls
down the cliff into blackness. Behind you, to the north, stands the great iron
gate. The tower rises above you, shapeless and gaunt; the night is bleak, windy,
with all moon and stars fled, leaving only the unfathomable emptiness of the
distant plain, invisible far below.

A small bright object glitters halfway down the cliff, well out of reach.

The raven flutters after you.

>examine night
The Heavens above are starless, black with roiling clouds, from which a sullen
lightning intermittently forks.

The raven flutters into the air, circling the rock stairs, then dives for the
tiny glittering object. It rises, circles, and with a self-satisfied flurry
returns to your side, dropping a small silver key at your feet.

>get key
Taken.

The raven caws. "Nevermore!"

>examine key
It is the small silver key to your laboratory, that you threw away last night in
a fit of terror and now has been recovered by the raven. Perhaps that grim bird
is an omen of good, after all. Perhaps you now have a chance to reverse the
disaster you caused.

The raven preens its feathers.

A dull, dark weariness drifts over you.

>n

Portico
The great iron gate to the south, black as time, stands here to seal the tower's
entrance.  A dark corridor, worn by countless centuries of forgotten feet, leads
back north into the cryptic maze which you -- and in those brief, happy,
vanished days, Lenore -- once called a home.

The raven flutters after you.

A dull, dark weariness drifts over you.

>sniff coca
You inhale a quantity of coca powder.

The raven caws. "Nevermore!"

A sense of raw alertness rushes through your nerves, setting them all on edge.

>close gate
You pull the great iron gate to and bolt it carefully.

The raven caws. "Nevermore!"

The coca rush fades, but the sense of alertness remains.

>n

Hallway
Stone columns, either side of the northwest arch to your study, brace the
ceiling, whose upper reaches are lost in darkness that your lamp cannot pierce.
The hallway winds deeper into the tower to the northeast; but a faint wisp of
draft seeps in from the south.

The raven flutters after you.

>n
Cold stone blocks your way.

The raven preens its feathers.

>ne

Gallery
The dust of ages -- and of your family for so many generations -- clings to
crooked stone walls, here in this gallery that twists from southwest to east as
it winds through the tower and ends at a stout wooden door. Wider archways open
to the north and southeast.

A portrait of Lenore, radiant on your wedding day, adorns the wall.

The raven flutters after you, and perches on the portrait.

>n

Library
The stacks of obscure volumes tower to the vaulted ceiling. Your father had
eclectic tastes in literature, and you have extended his collection with your
own research. Many of these manuscripts are originals, costly in both getting
and reading. A dark archway to the south leads back out to the gallery.

The raven swoops into the room, and perches on the stacks.

>[ Eagerly I wished the morrow; -- vainly I had sought to borrow
  From my books surcease of sorrow -- sorrow for the lost Lenore --]

examine volumes
The stacks of books fill the spaces all around you. Your eye is drawn chiefly to
Ex Sanguine Vita, Adams' Pharmacopia, Inhumanities, Principia Caelestium
Mysteriorum and Arts of the Chaldean Magi.

The raven pecks at a dusty volume.

>examine vita
"Ex Sanguine Vita", by Prometheus of Rome (a twelth-century occultist of no
small reputation, widely held to be the founder of the Golden Brotherhood, an
order with whose current members you have exchanged some dialogue). The volume
concerns itself with the varying forms and influences of blood, and its utility
in the Art.

The raven caws. "Nevermore!"

>examine pharmacopia
"Pharmacopia", a recent monogram by the Reverend Doctor Charles Fitzworth Adams
of Oxford, is a brief scholarly investigation of the reputed properties of
certain notable herbal and chemical substances, and their association with
religious rituals. It is useful mainly as a general guide to the field; you have
found practical experience to be a more enlightening path of research.

The raven caws. "Nevermore!"

>x inhumanities
"Inhumanities" by the Elder Bishop of Nicolae, a work whose origin is most
obscure but predates (or has been retranslated since) the fifth century. It
seems to chiefly relate certain charms or fables; formulae, perhaps, in other
terms. Many other works reference it, making its riddles all the more
intriguing.

The raven preens its feathers.

>read it
You try to read, but the strange words blear and swirl in the lamplight. Perhaps
in your study you will be able to make more sense of them.

The raven preens its feathers.

>get inhumanities
Taken.

The raven caws. "Nevermore!"

>s

Gallery
The dust of ages -- and of your family for so many generations -- clings to
crooked stone walls, here in this gallery that twists from southwest to east as
it winds through the tower and ends at a stout wooden door. Wider archways open
to the north and southeast.

A portrait of Lenore, radiant on your wedding day, adorns the wall.

The raven flutters after you, and perches on the portrait.

>sw

Hallway
Stone columns, either side of the northwest arch to your study, brace the
ceiling, whose upper reaches are lost in darkness that your lamp cannot pierce.
The hallway winds deeper into the tower to the northeast; but a faint wisp of
draft seeps in from the south.

The raven flutters after you.

>nw

Study
Stone walls, wreathed in shadows and velvet curtains, rise into the gloom
overhead. The old oak writing desk -- once your father's, now your own -- is
wedged beneath the window lattice, with a velvet couch before it. A low fire
smoulders in its ancient hearth. To the southeast, a bust of Pallas sits atop an
arch with darkness beyond.

The raven follows you through the archway, and roosts on the bust of Pallas.

>read inhumanities
You hunt feverishly through the pages of Inhumanities, and discover:

"The Grief of the King was this manner: In his Temple he was at ease, though
without the Queen. Then his Messenger did come to him, and bear him news of the
Heavenly Fire. Then much Water did afflict the King, until his Soul melted
within him. This is the King's Grief, how his Power was touched with
Compassion."

The raven caws. "Nevermore!"

The curtains billow gently in the draft.

>se

Hallway
Stone columns, either side of the northwest arch to your study, brace the
ceiling, whose upper reaches are lost in darkness that your lamp cannot pierce.
The hallway winds deeper into the tower to the northeast; but a faint wisp of
draft seeps in from the south.

The raven flutters after you.

>ne

Gallery
The dust of ages -- and of your family for so many generations -- clings to
crooked stone walls, here in this gallery that twists from southwest to east as
it winds through the tower and ends at a stout wooden door. Wider archways open
to the north and southeast.

A portrait of Lenore, radiant on your wedding day, adorns the wall.

The raven flutters after you, and perches on the portrait.

>e
The wooden door is closed, and bars your way.

The raven shifts its grip on the portrait.

A dull, dark weariness drifts over you.

>sniff coca
You inhale a quantity of coca powder.

The raven caws. "Nevermore!"

A sense of raw alertness rushes through your nerves, setting them all on edge.

>unlock door
You unlock the wooden door.

The raven glares at you from the portrait.

The coca rush fades, but the sense of alertness remains.

>open it
You open the wooden door.

The raven eyes you balefully.

>e

Laboratory
The place of your secret labor and craft, where even Lenore did not lightly
enter -- oh, if only she had not! -- and no other friends have ever been
invited. The room is small, though not cramped, for all the elements and
reagents are precisely in their places on the low wooden table. A space extends
a little beyond, to the southeast, and there the darkness is complete. The
wooden door is to the west.

The raven swoops into the room, perching on the table.

>[ On this home by horror haunted -- tell me truly, I implore --
  Is there -- is there -- balm in Gilead? -- tell me -- tell me -- I implore!]

se

Brink of the Pit
The crumbling masonry has finally given way to gravity here, leaving a gaping
pit that drops into blackness, utter and absolute, in the bowels of the tower --
or perhaps elsewhere. It is a desolate thing, but one that has suited your
studies to use rather than repair. The safer regions of your laboratory extend
to the northwest.

You can see a bloodstain, the sigil of Protection and a stick of chalk here.

The raven flutters after you, perching on the edge of the pit.

>[ Deep into that darkness peering, long I stood there wondering, fearing,
  Doubting, dreaming dreams no mortals ever dared to dream before;]

eat peyote
You chew a little of the bitter cactus slowly. Most of the button remains
intact.

The raven stares into the pit.

An odd, visionary feeling stabs at your eyelids.

>z
Time passes.

The raven stares into the pit.

Your surroundings shift weirdly; a vision forms itself before your eyes.

Lenore stands by your side, trembling. You draw the remaining sigils and
position the vessels correctly. A darkness ascends from the pit; the invocation
is complete. 

The darkness rises; fear seizes you. An error in your calculations! It cannot
be! Behind you, Lenore screams. Blood. The pit must have its fill. She falls.
Invisible air thickens, sucks her closer, hurls you away... 

As you struggle to rechalk the lines, one word rises from your lips: 

"Lenore!"

The visionary sense fades, and normal sight returns.

>look into pit
It is an irregularly shaped opening, dropping through the floor and down into
umplumbed depths, which since your studies began you have been careful never to
enter. No light of star or candle has ever graced its total darkness, though
there have been times when with the proper preparation you have seen -- things
-- within that would make a man seriously question his geometry, if not his
metaphysics.

The raven preens its feathers.

>examine sigil
It is the Chaldean sigil of Protection, and has been scrawled hastily in your
hand around the perimeter of the pit. The complex lines are crude and scratchy,
but -- thank all Power! -- contain no significant mistakes, for you at least are
still alive.

The raven caws. "Nevermore!"

>examine stain
Ah, life! It is Lenore's blood, and if not by your hand, then by the hand of
your cursed, blasphemous art. If there were indeed some way to call her sweet
soul back from Hades -- what price would you not pay?

The bloodstain runs across the chamber floor to the lip of the pit. Already, so
soon, it has dried to a dark film across the stones. Probably only a knife could
remove it, and you would rather leave the scar there forever.

The raven preens its feathers.

>nw

Laboratory
The place of your secret labor and craft, where even Lenore did not lightly
enter -- oh, if only she had not! -- and no other friends have ever been
invited. The room is small, though not cramped, for all the elements and
reagents are precisely in their places on the low wooden table. A space extends
a little beyond, to the southeast, and there the darkness is complete. The
wooden door is to the west.

The raven swoops into the room, perching on the table.

The lightning-cage sparks faintly for a moment. A storm must be gathering
outside; but either it is too distant, or the lightning-trap is too ineffectual,
to capture more than a ghost of its power.

>examine cage
This cage of burnished copper wire -- large enough to hold a small vessel -- is
part of your experimental lightning trap, inspired by the writings of Franklin
and Volta, as well as several suggestive passages in ancient Sanskrit texts. A
thick copper cable runs up from it though the vaulted stone ceiling, and from
there to the lightning-rod on the tower peak. 

The raven caws. "Nevermore!"

>nw
Cold stone blocks your way.

The raven preens its feathers.

>w

Gallery
The dust of ages -- and of your family for so many generations -- clings to
crooked stone walls, here in this gallery that twists from southwest to east as
it winds through the tower and ends at a stout wooden door. Wider archways open
to the north and southeast.

A portrait of Lenore, radiant on your wedding day, adorns the wall.

The raven flutters after you, and perches on the portrait.

>se

Bedroom
This room is bleak with loss. The great four-poster bed is as it always was, and
so too the simple dressing-table. But all light and space is gone, for there
will be no more Lenore to share your dreams and wake you gently in the morning.
The archway to northwest leads only into darkness.

The raven follows you into the room, and perches on the bed.

>[ But the silence was unbroken, and the stillness gave no token,
  And the only word there spoken was the whispered word, "Lenore!"]

eat peyote
You chew a little of the bitter cactus slowly. Most of the button remains
intact.

The raven caws. "Nevermore!"

An odd, visionary feeling stabs at your eyelids.

>z
Time passes.

The raven caws. "Nevermore!"

Your surroundings shift weirdly; a vision forms itself before your eyes.

Lenore lies on the bed, smiling up at you. Her eyes beckon like rare sunlight,
and the book she is reading falls to the floor. 

"All things pass, but love remains," she says. "Love..."

The visionary sense fades, and normal sight returns.

>look at table
A small pinewood table, simple and elegant, at the head of the four-poster bed.
On the table are an eyebath and a hunting knife.

The raven stares at you from the bed.

>get all from it
eyebath: Removed.
hunting knife: Removed.

The raven caws. "Nevermore!"

>look at bed
The great bed looms into the shadows, and the gargoyles on the four posts that
surround it look to your grieved imagination more like dreaming demons than the
guardian protectors you once loved. The linen sheets are wracked and thrown
about in disarray, testament to a night and day of sleepless anguish.

The raven caws. "Nevermore!"

A dull, dark weariness drifts over you.

>sniff coca
You inhale a quantity of coca powder.

The raven caws. "Nevermore!"

A sense of raw alertness rushes through your nerves, setting them all on edge.

>cut sheets with knife
You slash savagely at the sheets with the knife, reducing them to some linen
strips and a tatter of rags.

The raven preens its feathers.

The coca rush fades, but the sense of alertness remains.

>examine linen
(the linen strips)
Some strips of linen, cut from your bedsheets.

The raven pecks at a bedpost gargoyle.

>nw

Gallery
The dust of ages -- and of your family for so many generations -- clings to
crooked stone walls, here in this gallery that twists from southwest to east as
it winds through the tower and ends at a stout wooden door. Wider archways open
to the north and southeast.

A portrait of Lenore, radiant on your wedding day, adorns the wall.

The raven flutters after you, and perches on the portrait.

>examine portrait
It is Lenore as she was and as you always wish to remember her -- and though
memory is cruel, it is all that now remains of the most joyous time in your
life. The portrait was painted by a master in Venice on finest canvas,  and it
is worth a princely sum, though you care little for its value in gold.

Tears flow unbidden from your eyes, at the sight of what -- if tonight you fail
-- you have lost forever.

The raven glares at you from the portrait.

>catch tears in eyebath
You catch some of your tears in the eyebath, filling it with salty liquid.

The raven eyes you balefully.

Your tears continue to flow.

>cut portrait
You slash savagely at the portrait of Lenore, tearing off a triangle of painted
canvas. The portrait is ruined, but then so is your heart -- and what price is
not worth paying, to reclaim your love?

The raven screeches discordantly.

Your tears run dry, but the grief remains.

>examine triangle
A triangle of canvas cut from Lenore's portrait. The rich pigments and hues are
barely recognisable, but they seem to mark the location of her heart.

The raven caws. "Nevermore!"

>e

Laboratory
The place of your secret labor and craft, where even Lenore did not lightly
enter -- oh, if only she had not! -- and no other friends have ever been
invited. The room is small, though not cramped, for all the elements and
reagents are precisely in their places on the low wooden table. A space extends
a little beyond, to the southeast, and there the darkness is complete. The
wooden door is to the west.

The raven swoops into the room, perching on the table.

>examine table
The wooden table is simple, hewn from a single slab of living oak, representing
the unity of all things and the constant striving for growth and knowledge in
the craft. It is also old, an artifact from a certain French metaphysical
society whose roots, some scholars believe, go back to Solomon the Wise. 

On the table are a skull mortar, a glass retort, a cask of aqua vitae, a bottle
of aqua regis, a flask of quicksilver, a vial of brimstone, a porcelain platter
and a lightning cage.

The raven leers at you from the table.

>examine retort
A spherical glass bowl, for the arrangement and combination of the mineral
elements, in whatever configuration the art requires. 

The raven screeches discordantly.

>put ring in retort
(first taking it off)

You take off the gold ring.
You put the gold ring into the glass retort.

The raven screeches discordantly.

>pour mercury into retort
You carefully pour a silvery liquid from the flask of quicksilver into the glass
retort.

The raven preens its feathers.

>pour aqua regis into retort
You carefully pour a pungent liquid from the bottle of aqua regis into the glass
retort.

The raven caws. "Nevermore!"

The gold ring sputters furiously in the retort, and dissolves into the pungent
liquid.

>examine retort
A spherical glass bowl, for the arrangement and combination of the mineral
elements, in whatever configuration the art requires. Inside are a yellow sludge
and a silvery liquid.

The raven pecks at the flasks and vials on the table.

A faint tingling runs down your spine.

>examine skull
An alchemical mixing bowl, formed from a hollow human skull with the top of the
cranium removed. Despite its grisly appearance, the purpose is noble: to cradle
and embrace the elements of life, and affirm their significance. 

The raven screeches discordantly.

The lightning-cage sparks faintly for a moment.

>put blood in skull
You can't see any such thing.

>i
You are carrying:
  a triangle of painted canvas
  some linen strips
  a hunting knife
  an eyebath
    a salty liquid
  Inhumanities
  a silver key
  opium resin
  an opium pipe
  a peyote button
  an oil-lamp (providing light)
  a paper sachet (which is open)
    coca powder

The raven eyes you balefully.

>se

Brink of the Pit
The crumbling masonry has finally given way to gravity here, leaving a gaping
pit that drops into blackness, utter and absolute, in the bowels of the tower --
or perhaps elsewhere. It is a desolate thing, but one that has suited your
studies to use rather than repair. The safer regions of your laboratory extend
to the northwest.

You can see a bloodstain, the sigil of Protection and a stick of chalk here.

The raven flutters after you, perching on the edge of the pit.

>scrape stain with knife
You scrape at the bloodstain with the knife, yielding a small fragment of dried
blood.

The raven eyes you balefully.

>examine dried blood
(the bloodstain)
Ah, life! It is Lenore's blood, and if not by your hand, then by the hand of
your cursed, blasphemous art. If there were indeed some way to call her sweet
soul back from Hades -- what price would you not pay?

The bloodstain runs across the chamber floor to the lip of the pit. Already, so
soon, it has dried to a dark film across the stones. Probably only a knife could
remove it, and you would rather leave the scar there forever.

The raven stares into the pit.

A dull, dark weariness drifts over you.

>sniff coca
You inhale a quantity of coca powder.

The raven caws. "Nevermore!"

A sense of raw alertness rushes through your nerves, setting them all on edge.

>nw

Laboratory
The place of your secret labor and craft, where even Lenore did not lightly
enter -- oh, if only she had not! -- and no other friends have ever been
invited. The room is small, though not cramped, for all the elements and
reagents are precisely in their places on the low wooden table. A space extends
a little beyond, to the southeast, and there the darkness is complete. The
wooden door is to the west.

The raven swoops into the room, perching on the table.

The lightning-cage sparks faintly for a moment.

The coca rush fades, but the sense of alertness remains.

>examine fragment
A fragment of Lenore's dead blood, scraped from the edge of the pit. It seems
unthinkable that this should be all that remains of she who only days ago was
your life, your essence. And yet - Lenore is gone.

The raven caws. "Nevermore!"

>put it in skull
You put the fragment of dried blood into the skull mortar.

The raven screeches discordantly.

>pour tears into skull
You carefully pour the salty liquid into the skull mortar.

The raven caws. "Nevermore!"

>cut wrists with knife
You pause, trembling. It would be so easy to make that one small cut to the
wrist; but the consequences, can you indeed bear them?

The raven screeches discordantly.

>again
No, there is no alternative. You must do what is needful. You inhale deeply and
slash the knife across your wrist. The pain is sharp, but slight; then bright,
scarlet blood begins spurting out of the severed artery.

The raven eyes you balefully.

>bandage wrist
What do you want to bandage your wrists with?

>linen
You wrap the linen strips around your wrist, staunching the flow of blood. It is
a crude bandage, but for the moment it must suffice.

The raven caws. "Nevermore!"

>remove bandage
You take off the linen strips.

The raven pecks at the flasks and vials on the table.

A faint tingling runs down your spine.

Blood continues to flow from your opened wrist.

>catch blood in skull
(the stream of blood in the skull mortar)
(first taking the skull mortar)
You catch some of your living blood in the skull mortar, filling it with red
liquid.

The raven preens its feathers.

The lightning-cage sparks faintly for a moment.

Blood continues to flow from your opened wrist.

>bandage wrist
What do you want to bandage your wrists with?

>linen
You wrap the linen strips around your wrist, staunching the flow of blood. It is
a crude bandage, but for the moment it must suffice.

The raven screeches discordantly.

>put triangle in skull
You put the triangle of painted canvas into the skull mortar.

The raven preens its feathers.

>burn triangle
The triangle of painted canvas catches aflame and is quickly consumed, leaving a
brownish ash. 

The raven leers at you from the table.

>examine skull
An alchemical mixing bowl, formed from a hollow human skull with the top of the
cranium removed. Despite its grisly appearance, the purpose is noble: to cradle
and embrace the elements of life, and affirm their significance. Inside are a
brownish ash, a scarlet liquid, a salty liquid and a fragment of dried blood.

The raven preens its feathers.

>get skull
You already have that.

The raven eyes you balefully.

A faint tingling runs down your spine.

>se

Brink of the Pit
The crumbling masonry has finally given way to gravity here, leaving a gaping
pit that drops into blackness, utter and absolute, in the bowels of the tower --
or perhaps elsewhere. It is a desolate thing, but one that has suited your
studies to use rather than repair. The safer regions of your laboratory extend
to the northwest.

You can see a bloodstain, the sigil of Protection and a stick of chalk here.

The raven flutters after you, perching on the edge of the pit.

>get chalk
Taken.

The raven caws. "Nevermore!"

>draw sigil of power
You carefully draw the sigil of Power on the stone floor.

The raven preens its feathers.

>draw sigil of desire
You carefully draw the sigil of Desire on the stone floor.

The raven preens its feathers.

>put skull on sigil of desire
You put the skull mortar on the sigil of Desire.

The raven stares at you from the edge of the pit.

A dull, dark weariness drifts over you.

>sniff coca
You inhale a quantity of coca powder.

The raven stares at you from the edge of the pit.

A sense of raw alertness rushes through your nerves, setting them all on edge.

>nw

Laboratory
The place of your secret labor and craft, where even Lenore did not lightly
enter -- oh, if only she had not! -- and no other friends have ever been
invited. The room is small, though not cramped, for all the elements and
reagents are precisely in their places on the low wooden table. A space extends
a little beyond, to the southeast, and there the darkness is complete. The
wooden door is to the west.

The raven swoops into the room, perching on the table.

The lightning-cage sparks faintly for a moment.

The coca rush fades, but the sense of alertness remains.

>put chalk on table
You put the stick of chalk on the wooden table.

The raven leers at you from the table.

>w

Gallery
The dust of ages -- and of your family for so many generations -- clings to
crooked stone walls, here in this gallery that twists from southwest to east as
it winds through the tower and ends at a stout wooden door. Wider archways open
to the north and southeast.

A portrait of Lenore, hanging on the wall, has been ruined by a knife-slash.

The raven flutters after you, and perches on the portrait.

>w
Cold stone blocks your way.

The raven caws. "Nevermore!"

>sw

Hallway
Stone columns, either side of the northwest arch to your study, brace the
ceiling, whose upper reaches are lost in darkness that your lamp cannot pierce.
The hallway winds deeper into the tower to the northeast; but a faint wisp of
draft seeps in from the south.

The raven flutters after you.

>s

Portico
The great iron gate to the south, black as time, stands here to seal the tower's
entrance.  A dark corridor, worn by countless centuries of forgotten feet, leads
back north into the cryptic maze which you -- and in those brief, happy,
vanished days, Lenore -- once called a home.

The raven flutters after you.

>eat peyote
You chew a little of the bitter cactus slowly. Most of the button remains
intact.

An odd, visionary feeling stabs at your eyelids.

>z
Time passes.

The raven eyes you balefully.

Your surroundings shift weirdly; a vision forms itself before your eyes.

You step across the threshold, carrying a laughing Lenore in your arms. You
sway; she drops lightly to the ground, holds you, kisses you. 

"To life," she says, and laughs again. 

"To life."

The visionary sense fades, and normal sight returns.

>n

Hallway
Stone columns, either side of the northwest arch to your study, brace the
ceiling, whose upper reaches are lost in darkness that your lamp cannot pierce.
The hallway winds deeper into the tower to the northeast; but a faint wisp of
draft seeps in from the south.

The raven flutters after you.

>nw

Study
Stone walls, wreathed in shadows and velvet curtains, rise into the gloom
overhead. The old oak writing desk -- once your father's, now your own -- is
wedged beneath the window lattice, with a velvet couch before it. A low fire
smoulders in its ancient hearth. To the southeast, a bust of Pallas sits atop an
arch with darkness beyond.

The raven follows you through the archway, and roosts on the bust of Pallas.

>eat peyote
You chew a little of the bitter cactus slowly. Most of the button remains
intact.

The raven eyes you balefully.

An icy gust from the window sends the curtains reeling.

An odd, visionary feeling stabs at your eyelids.

>z
Time passes.

The raven caws. "Nevermore!"

An icy gust from the window sends the curtains reeling.

Your surroundings shift weirdly; a vision forms itself before your eyes.

The room is much larger; or you are much younger. Your father sits at the
writing desk, poring over obscure books. His hair is grey, his face lined with
care. The purple curtains, vast and shadowy, billow above you in a draft from
the window; the gap between them and the floor seems cavernous. You toddle
toward the gap. Somewhere, a raven caws...

The visionary sense fades, and normal sight returns.

>examine curtains
Purple silken curtains hang down each side of the window, and extend around the
room to soften the harsh stonework. A cold draft from the window is billowing
the curtains outward into the room, leaving a slight gap between them and the
wall.

The raven caws. "Nevermore!"

>examine gap
There seems to be a substantial gap between the curtains and the stone wall,
into which with a little effort you could insinuate yourself.

The raven watches you silently from the bust of Pallas.

The curtains billow gently in the draft.

>step into gap
You step cautiously behind the curtains...

Behind the Curtains
Here behind the curtains, you have discovered a tiny alcove of stonework, hidden
from the rest of your study. The purple silk billows out around you, dim
firelight casting strange disturbing shadows onto the ancient masonry. Old
memories rise, of hiding here as a child while your father worked at his books.
Those days are long gone, but something urges you to stay and watch the play of
light and colour.

The raven flutters after you.

>[ And the silken sad uncertain rustling of each purple curtain
  Thrilled me -- filled me with fantastic terrors never felt before;]

examine play
The stone blocks that form the wall are old and pitted, worn by time and
darkened with smoke. Vague, disturbing colours and shadows swim across their
surface. One block even seems to have fallen inwards, the beginnings perhaps of
some wider decay.

The raven caws. "Nevermore!"

>touch block
The block moves slightly under your hand, and then a fearful grinding noise
reverberates through the walls. At length it fades, and all seems as it was.

The raven caws. "Nevermore!"

>out

Study
Stone walls, wreathed in shadows and velvet curtains, rise into the gloom
overhead. The old oak writing desk -- once your father's, now your own -- is
wedged beneath the window lattice, with a velvet couch before it. A low fire
smoulders in its ancient hearth. To the southeast, a bust of Pallas sits atop an
arch with darkness beyond.

Something -- or is it just a trick of the firelight? -- seems different.

The raven follows you through the archway, and roosts on the bust of Pallas.

>examine firelight
The fire has burned low in the great stone hearth, and is now little more than a
softly glowing bed of embers, radiating amber light and a comfortable warmth.
The hearth casts strange shadows on the embers that were not there before.

The raven preens its feathers.

An icy gust from the window sends the curtains reeling.

A dull, dark weariness drifts over you.

>sniff coca
You inhale a quantity of coca powder.

The raven shifts slightly on the bust of Pallas, with a soft 'chink'.

The curtains move softly, caressed by the breeze.

A sense of raw alertness rushes through your nerves, setting them all on edge.

>examine shadows
The great hearth, carved from stone old as the tower, is wide enough for a man
to stand in, and makes the smouldering embers of the night's fire look
diminished in comparison. Behind the embers, a set of stone recesses seems to
have appeared, possibly steps or footholds of some kind. If you stepped into the
hearth, you could now stand on these with some effort. The tower is full of
these obscure passages, though this is one you have personally never discovered
until tonight.

The raven preens its feathers.

The curtains billow gently in the draft.

The coca rush fades, but the sense of alertness remains.

>i
You are carrying:
  some linen strips (being worn)
  a hunting knife
  an eyebath
  Inhumanities
  a silver key
  opium resin
  an opium pipe
  a peyote button
  an oil-lamp (providing light)
  a paper sachet (which is open)
    coca powder

The raven screeches discordantly.

The curtains billow gently in the draft.

>enter hearth
You step cautiously into the hearth, taking care to place your feet on the
footholds in the stonework and not on the smouldering embers. The footholds rise
above you, and you take one cat-footed step and then another...

Hidden Chimney
There is light far below, filtering up from the hearth from which you entered
this hidden passage, but above all is darkness. Rough footholds hold your grip
steady for the moment, though this is not a place where one would wish to stay
forever.

The raven flutters after you.

>up
Hand over hand, you haul yourself up the chimney, fighting a growing terror of
enclosure, until at last you clamber out, over a ledge, into precious open space
and ah! such cold night air...

On the Tower
You are at last on the very peak of the torturous tower, in which you spent so
much of your childhood and now, returning since your father's death, your adult
life. It spreads below you like a thing of stone, not alive yet not quite dead,
blotting out the face of cliff and plain. Night wind howls around the chimney-
stack, and brings with it a sense of storm and sullen rain that might yet merely
brood, and not fall.

Jutting from the far side of the chimney-stack, a bronze lightning-rod spears
toward the heavens.

The raven flutters out after you, perching on the chimneystack.

>examine rod
As Franklin proved in the American colonies, the powers of heaven can be
channeled for temporal as well as spiritual ends. This simple bronze rod draws
and focuses the lightning according to the secular laws of metallurgy, feeding
tamed bursts of the divine fire to your laboratory. A copper cable wreathed in
muslin runs from the base of the rod along the stonework, vanishing into the
bowels of the tower. 

On closer inspection, it appears that the god of thunder has not been kind to
your hubris. At the base of the rod is a scorched and blistered gap, roughly the
length of your hand, where a section of the copper cable has melted away.

The raven watches you silently from the chimneystack.

>examine gap
Between the bronze rod and the copper cable is a gap roughly the length of your
hand, where metal has been burned away by the violence of the recent storms --
perhaps as lately as last night. The lightning seems to be escaping through the
gap, losing its potency.

The raven watches you silently from the chimneystack.

>put knife in gap
You wedge the knife into the gap between the copper cable and the bronze rod. It
fits somewhat awkwardly, but will hold for the present.

The raven caws. "Nevermore!"

The air feels strangely heavy, and the hair on your head stands upright.

>z
Time passes.

The raven caws. "Nevermore!"

Lightning flashes from the black sky to the lightning-rod, arcing violently
through the hunting knife, which melts in white-hot fury. The night dins with
thunder and the smell of hot metal.

>examine knife
The thing that once was your hunting knife has been scarred and transformed by
the lightning, the German steel fusing into blackened globules and the bone
handle cracked and charred by immense heat. Such is the power of heaven -- and
of those like yourself who challenge its sacred mysteries.

The raven shifts uneasily on the chimneystack.

>enter chimney
You clamber back into that accursed chimney-stack, and make the wearisome
descent...

Hidden Chimney
There is light far below, filtering up from the hearth from which you entered
this hidden passage, but above all is darkness. Rough footholds hold your grip
steady for the moment, though this is not a place where one would wish to stay
forever.

The raven flutters after you.

>d
You descend the chimney carefully, arriving once more at your familiar hearth --
but from such a freakish vantage point, these hot coals beneath your very feet!
-- that you nearly lose your grip. Reason, however, steadies your mind and you
stumble out, unharmed, into the room.

Study
Stone walls, wreathed in shadows and velvet curtains, rise into the gloom
overhead. The old oak writing desk -- once your father's, now your own -- is
wedged beneath the window lattice, with a velvet couch before it. A low fire
smoulders in its ancient hearth. To the southeast, a bust of Pallas sits atop an
arch with darkness beyond.

The raven follows you through the archway, and roosts on the bust of Pallas.

>se

Hallway
Stone columns, either side of the northwest arch to your study, brace the
ceiling, whose upper reaches are lost in darkness that your lamp cannot pierce.
The hallway winds deeper into the tower to the northeast; but a faint wisp of
draft seeps in from the south.

The raven flutters after you.

>e
Cold stone blocks your way.

The raven caws. "Nevermore!"

>se
Cold stone blocks your way.

The raven preens its feathers.

>ne

Gallery
The dust of ages -- and of your family for so many generations -- clings to
crooked stone walls, here in this gallery that twists from southwest to east as
it winds through the tower and ends at a stout wooden door. Wider archways open
to the north and southeast.

A portrait of Lenore, hanging on the wall, has been ruined by a knife-slash.

The raven flutters after you, and perches on the portrait.

>i
You are carrying:
  some linen strips (being worn)
  an eyebath
  Inhumanities
  a silver key
  opium resin
  an opium pipe
  a peyote button
  an oil-lamp (providing light)
  a paper sachet (which is open)
    coca powder

The raven caws. "Nevermore!"

>e

Laboratory
The place of your secret labor and craft, where even Lenore did not lightly
enter -- oh, if only she had not! -- and no other friends have ever been
invited. The room is small, though not cramped, for all the elements and
reagents are precisely in their places on the low wooden table. A space extends
a little beyond, to the southeast, and there the darkness is complete. The
wooden door is to the west.

The raven swoops into the room, perching on the table.

>examine cage
This cage of burnished copper wire -- large enough to hold a small vessel -- is
part of your experimental lightning trap, inspired by the writings of Franklin
and Volta, as well as several suggestive passages in ancient Sanskrit texts. A
thick copper cable runs up from it though the vaulted stone ceiling, and from
there to the lightning-rod on the tower peak. 

The raven caws. "Nevermore!"

>get retort
Taken.

The raven caws. "Nevermore!"

A faint tingling runs down your spine.

A dull, dark weariness drifts over you.

>put it in cage
You put the glass retort into the lightning cage.

The raven leers at you from the table.

The lightning-cage flares with blue-white fire, casting stark shadows across the
room. There is a crackling roar, and the stench of storms.

A dull, dark weariness drifts over you.

>sniff coca
You inhale a quantity of coca powder.

The raven preens its feathers.

A sense of raw alertness rushes through your nerves, setting them all on edge.

>examine cage
This cage of burnished copper wire -- large enough to hold a small vessel -- is
part of your experimental lightning trap, inspired by the writings of Franklin
and Volta, as well as several suggestive passages in ancient Sanskrit texts. A
thick copper cable runs up from it though the vaulted stone ceiling, and from
there to the lightning-rod on the tower peak.  Inside the cage is a glass
retort.

The raven caws. "Nevermore!"

The coca rush fades, but the sense of alertness remains.

>examine retort
A spherical glass bowl, for the arrangement and combination of the mineral
elements, in whatever configuration the art requires. Inside are a glittering
ash, a yellow sludge and a silvery liquid.

The raven leers at you from the table.

>examine ash
A metallic, glittering ash, smelling of glass and storms.

The raven pecks at the flasks and vials on the table.

>get retort
Taken.

The raven leers at you from the table.

>se

Brink of the Pit
The crumbling masonry has finally given way to gravity here, leaving a gaping
pit that drops into blackness, utter and absolute, in the bowels of the tower --
or perhaps elsewhere. It is a desolate thing, but one that has suited your
studies to use rather than repair. The safer regions of your laboratory extend
to the northwest.

You can see the sigil of Desire (on which is a skull mortar (in which are a
brownish ash, a scarlet liquid, a salty liquid and a fragment of dried blood)),
the sigil of Power, a bloodstain and the sigil of Protection here.

The raven flutters after you, perching on the edge of the pit.

>put retort on sigil of power
You put the glass retort on the sigil of Power.

The raven caws. "Nevermore!"

>save
Enter a file name.
Default is "never.sav": 
Ok.

>put resin in pipe
You put opium resin into the opium pipe.

The raven eyes you balefully.

>light pipe
You light the opium pipe with the oil-lamp, and it emits a fragrant,
intoxicating vapour.

The raven stares at you from the edge of the pit.

>smoke pipe
You take a long, satisfying draw on the opium pipe.

The raven eyes you balefully.

A languid dreamy sensation steals over you.

>erase sigil of protection
With your hand, you begin to erase the chalk lines of the Sigil of Protection. A
chill seeps into the room, icy fingers of fear swirling up from the pit, which
seems to loom and swell to an immense pool of distance. The raven caws, a hoarse
shriek that cuts off abruptly. There is a sudden sharp -crack- from your lamp
and it shatters, plunging you into darkness.

Brink of the Pit (in darkness)
The crumbling masonry of your laboratory is wreathed in darkness, and your blood
has turned to ice; only the Pit at your feet seems to have any form or
substance. A low, dissonant, chaotic music pervades your mind, at once old,
familiar and terrifying. No shape is visible; for that small mercy you are
grateful. Your skin crawls as if it would escape its cage of bone.

AGAIN YOU TROUBLE ME.

The opium euphoria drains from your mind, but a lingering, unnatural calmness
remains - enough, perhaps, to keep your sanity intact.

>examine pit
The Pit, obsidian black, seems to pluck at you with a fierce compulsion.

THE GRIEF OF THE KING. THE HEART'S BLOOD BURNING. THESE SIGNS I KNOW. PERHAPS I
MAY HONOUR YOUR COVENANT. SPEAK THREE WORDS OF ENTREATY.

>say lenore
(to the pit)

A WORD INDEED. ANOTHER.

>say love
(to the pit)

A WORD INDEED. ANOTHER.

>say life
(to the pit)

A WORD INDEED. ACCEPTABLE.

The darkness shifts momentarily; the sense of tangible evil subtly alters. 

YOUR TREATY IS GRANTED. COME WITHIN AND TASTE YOUR REWARD. 

You stand, balanced precariously, at the edge of the pit.

>jump
You step tremblingly across the margin of the dread void. One foot, and another;
then the weirdly solid air becomes ethereal once more, and you fall, into an
infinity of darkness...

-more-[ "Prophet!" said I, "thing of evil -- prophet still, if bird or devil!
  By the Heaven that bends above us -- by that God we both adore --
  Tell this soul with sorrow laden if within the distant Aidenn,
  It shall clasp a sainted maiden whom the angels name Lenore --]


-more-
Courtyard
Crumbling stone walls give way to an airy courtyard, here within the foundations
of the tower. Sunlight slants through broken arches, casting golden gleams
across an apple tree, in fragrant white blossom, which has somehow taken root in
the ruins.

A single golden fruit hangs lightly from the tree.

Lenore -- great God in Heaven, can it truly be? -- stands beneath the apple
tree. She glances at you, and your heart stands still. It is! It is her! Then
indeed if you had damned your very soul, you would rest sweetly even in Hades --
for Lenore is here, she is here, and she is alive!

A flutter of dark wings obscures your joy. The raven flits from the shadows into
the sunlight, and roosts in the apple tree.

>examine lenore
She is more beautiful than you have ever seen -- Lenore, your love, your life.
Her golden tresses fall in cascading ringlets against the white gown she wears;
the smile on her lips and in her sky-blue eyes is warm and soft as ever. But
something in her demeanour seems conflicted; as if she fears for the worst yet
is tempted despite reason to hope.

The raven preens its feathers.

>kiss her
Lenore returns your passionate advances.

"Forever," whispers Lenore. "Is it so long?"

The raven eyes you balefully.

>ask her about tree
"You are my Resurrection," says Lenore. "And my Immortality."

The raven pecks at the apple tree.

>examine fruit
A golden apple, glowing with a tangible inner vitality. Could it be - could this
really be...? But there is only substance enough for one mouthful - and no more.

The raven caws. "Nevermore!"

>get fruit
You pluck the golden fruit from the tree.

The raven caws. "Nevermore!"

>give fruit to lenore
"There is but one fruit," says Lenore softly. "And if I eat of Resurrection, you
cannot. Think carefully, if this is truly the bargain you would make."

The raven stares at you from the apple tree.

>again
Lenore takes the fruit from your hand reluctantly, and waits a little while as
if expecting you to change your mind. At last she turns, lifts the apple to her
mouth, and bites slowly into it, gingerly, as if it were poison. Tears stream
down her face as she turns back to you. 

"Heaven and Earth," she says, "conspire against us. But they know no love like
this." 

She flings her arms around you, and as twilight fades from your eyes, her tears
and kisses fall. They fall forever, down the long and changing years; but for
you they fall - nevermore.

    *** You have achieved Resurrection ***



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