She is desire, a goddess of a bunch of madmen. She is an entity of freedom yet cages souls at the same time. Her worshippers slit their skin open for her to claim their blood; drain the crimson water and fill them with stories untold. She lures them into a room called escape, silently locks it from outside. When they rap against the wooden door, she says silence is where the passion resides. Never does she ever tells them how that is exactly where madness too presides. They were not mad before, just addicts of a new world; they tasted poems and called it wine. They coughed crimson but never visited the doctor. Everyone said it consumed them, it'd kill them----it is a disease. For them, it was not a malignant disease, for them it was just pure art.