A glorious table of feasting charlatans sit circling a bonfire of feigned justice.
The raging fire is stacked high with dangerous literature and is lorded over by Great and Powerful men.
But these men who burn books are no longer men; they are brutes. They are monsters.
The ecstatic cries from the sickeningly drunk mob, lingering in the waxy darkness, bade them on and fuel their spite; these are the screeching of festering demons.
The allied miscreants are welcome to serve in the throne-room; they are supplicants and sycophants all at once. They bellow the loudest, simultaneously boasting of their faithfulness to the Way while demanding the heads of all those who reject the fire!
The flames rape the senses and scourge the very fabric of society. They judge each person who bear witness or dare to applaud.
Those among the throng who champion for debate to cease and orthodoxy not be challenged are the understudies of beasts. Servitors of madness, they damn us all.
The devils shriek pithy slogans to showcase their supremacy; they choke on truth because their teeth are as rotten as their souls.
Their food is sugar-coated poison. They drink bile from blood-covered cups until they are fat and bloated and then regurgitate the putrid liquid violently back into the container and pass it around to be consumed anew.
Their diet of poisoned malice kills them slowly. But they force everyone to eat and drink at their table; those who refuse are agitators. Their books are burned and their lives destroyed.
The languid feast surrounding this centerpiece of hellfire, amidst their mad judgement of Truth, consumes their souls entirely. But they care not.
