The wizard is waiting for the young female volunteer
at the torture rack, to which he fastens her while talking
to the audience, accusing it at length of harboring bloodlust.
There is a numb expression on the face of the woman
on the torture table, her hands clasped above her head.
"Well, observe as I stick my fingers into the pretty eyes,
how BRAINS OOZE out from the ears," his fingers deep and
playing around in the girl's eye sockets. The wizard sounds
familiarly foreign and belongs to an older school of wizardly,
his showmanship marked by vain, booming declarations.
He gently pulls down her jaw and barks breath at
the opening mouth, into which he also sticks his hand,
resting it upon the tongue and then ripping out the tongue
and holding the spongy stump and glistening blood-tendrils
up to the audience, which claps its brain-sticky hands.
Turning to the woman on the rack he asks her
to describe his hand, as registered by the tastebuds
on her ripped-out tongue; clearly and unmuffled,
she describes the wizard's fingers as "frogballs
smeared with eye jelly - with the slime of my sight."