By dim flame and sacred smoke, I beheld Her—transfigured in the Great Work. Her form, cast in sun-gold, weepeth with time-worn tinctures. The Serpent, wise and wanton, windeth 'bout Her limbs, guiding flesh from veil to vision. A rite not for monks, but for those who seek truth in shadow and desire in fire. Thus, the vessel is made relic—wherein the sacred and profane are as one. AI generated work. NSFW.