The sexual ghost is bilingual and transgendered and it’s flopping cock falling out of its tights is a shocking spectacle. The children are abducted by the winged deviant and flown through the hayfields towards the mellow grey dawn of the infinite snowfall, infinitely wound through the black carcasses of the forest, where burned were its trees by the fires of Hephaestus himself, to save the limping virgin from her fate. They came down like a hail of arrows, hundreds of putti with gossamer wings and transparent skin, their little organs visible under their skin, and they let sail their long bullets from barrelless guns. The god grabbed the whore by her throat and pushed her into the earth. He is a very tactile god, and his hands are soft. “I like to touch things,” he said to her. “Touch me,” she said. He did not want to touch her, then, but he touched her, and she raised the soft flesh of her leg to his mouth, and he exhaled softly over the nude, white thigh, he kissed it, and he bit into it like a dog.