These remnants, rotting keepsakes of words and pictures are mnemonically residual. They are scryed, interfaces utilizing misfired sigilings, systems of incomplete quasi-alchemical call-signs and proto-symbologies loosely based upon borrowed (and in some cases stolen) artificially charged devices. When assembled into specific schemas, this soft machinery marks as it contains, and thus constructs the Terminal House.
Thee Room in Thee House
Enter the Great House and return to your room,
Return to the source of your powers,
Clean yourself in your room as you draw down the sun and the moon and the stars,
Return and purify,
Return and be clean and your powers have returned in your room,
Be clean in your room,
A white room with the black smell of burnt paper,
You can purify SPACE,
You can reset TIME,
You can cleanse all MATTER.
You will never be unclean in your white room,
You will be clean in your secret, black room whose door is cast by the shadow of the white room and in your black room with the smell of wet paper, you will wash the Beasts.
You will clean their fur with salt, seed and saliva,
The smells of the burning paper and the drowning paper,
The cleansing smells, this is the smell of clean animals under the ground in secret, black rooms and when you leave, You will chain the Beasts to the floor of their polished damnations,
You will keep them comfortable on beds of hair cut from your still dreaming childhood.