A thousand worms sought to devour a corpse to no avail, for it must have remained impervious & pristine.
Bones are plucked from broken feet and crushed into a paste, blood is drained causing the eyeless woman to grow pale, and in all his humor, came a waning light.
“How long did you rot?”
“Four days.” “How long will she?”
“For eternity.”
Her flesh became canvas to a hundred eyes, each etched with meticulous precision, her hair a crown wrought of worms and marrow.
Her fingers fused together to form a pyramid, and her gut was pinned thrice from unholy steels.
“Do you think my nephew would be proud?”
A voice, though not his own seemed to ask.
“Your sin is your own, Prophet.” Silence took the formless pair, and the embalmed corpse of that woman was paraded through hell itself.