"The Empire under which we all suffer, under which we are all ruled, was born upon the factory floor and upon the witch's stake. But in the char of those burnings and the soot from those smokestacks we can see its impending death..." Beauty stolen in a tavern of a Scottish port. A dead Cathar's caress as a man waits for bootsteps that will drag him away. Rain-drenched grief over iron bridges. Plastic fairies littering an ancient stone circle...