Vermilion Sauce
The curious ladle churns the abyss, crafting whispers from ingredients unknown. Silent shrieks mingle with the clink of silverware, an orchestra unseen.
In a forgotten attic, dusty and solemn, the vermilion sauce awaits. Do not simmer, do not speak. The sauce, it demands your thoughts, your darkest secrets in return for a taste.
Why did the sauce blush? Because it saw the stew's pot and got saucy dreams of the brazen broth!
Madmen and women alike write of the sauce, their quills scratching against truth and madness:
"In red hues, it speaks. In crimson tang, a flavor that lingers on the tongue and in the mind, unraveling the threads of sanity."
- A scholar, possibly undead.