Demons live in the clouded eyes of a blind and staggering horse, the decapitated birds and blood-strewn tangle of feathers and tiny ribs in the leafy patch of bedraggled grass and bent stalks of decaying honey-thistle, the greasy-black hawk atop the old wooden fence, shotgun holes in the gut, the corpse-eyes of each frog in the hemorrhaging red mud, Paimon, the royal carriage arriving with a grand orchestra, the infernal trumpets blaring, the dancing, schizophrenic bride and soft lullaby of angelic sleep, fat white infants and their sharp teeth to sever the nipple of the breast, the maidens and heretics, servants embrace the jars of strawberry milk and the odd, flame-less smoke from smoldering fires out on the wood-less plains, the Arab and djinn-like screams of the tortured banshee by the well, the frayed doll's hair and tongue curled, the strange elixirs and exotic cat-potions and ocean-bottles for the witches, the small neatly-colored serpent coiled by the bare legs of a voiceless girl asleep in the densely falling wet snow.