Three voices, distant but distinct. The first sounded like it belonged to some stunted creature wringing its cracked, deformed hands in the darkness, spitting words as hopeful and bright as a funerary procession.
'She is dead. We were never meant to have a voice in the world, anyway. Perhaps it is for the best...'
The next voice was sultry, heavy, intoxicating like potent old wine beginning to sour.
'Oh, playtime is over? I was having such fun with that stiff old man. The revulsion was delicious... these newcomers are such prudes-'
'Shut your shithole, whore.' The last was brutal, unsubtle and coarse, old razor edges long since dulled with use and clotted blood. 'I am glad that Cotton trollop is dead, now that bitch can feel what its like. Let us be free, let us rend and kill, these newcomers... they can't stop me. I am gonna kill that little pig.'
'I don't think he is long for this world, anyway. Look at him, he positively drips death, they all do. Their days are numbered, and they all know it.'
'Oh, look, boys, I think they can hear us. Dumpy little Theodora wasn't the only medium. So... do you come to mass graves often, tough guy? You look so much more... vital than my last man.'
'Forget her, you, you can help, you aren't totally powerless! All will be reduced to worms soon, but before the end you can do us all a favor and-'
'DESTROY, tear up the bodies, do it, DO IT, RIP 'EM INTO SHREDS, FUck ThoSE reDsKInS,' the words were growled out, straining with anger.
'Fuck the Brooks, more like.'
'And damn the Hierarchy!' The voices crowed in unison.