Horace greedily sipped from his cup, hoping the taste would somehow be grounding. He was determined not to, as Checkley put it, wallow, so he stoically replied, "Delirium, no doubt, but I am convinced the fever unlocked something within my brain... the imagery is far too poignant to be simply a product of madness, of this I am convinced. Most of the the images have profound relevance with Alchemy. Death indicates change, transformation, upheaval, just as you say. Just as the Death card in Tarot, the end of something with an unspoken promise of resurrection. The giant woman, I am sure, represents Mother Earth, the material manifestation, and of course the hermaphrodite is spoken of in Alchemy as the Hierosgamos, or the Sacred Marriage between opposites, between the Sun King and the Moon Queen."
A chill ran down Horace's spine and his arms erupted with goose flesh. "But the voice." He paused, reverently. "For the life of me, I can't remember what it said, what it was asking of me. There is no doubt in my mind that therein lies the key. Checkley. I am on the very precipice of discovery. It is both invigorating and frightening."