In the entrance a banshee screams into her cell phone. Her cries echo down the stone staircase and through the catacombs where the eyes of stoic saints stare out sadly from under their heavy lids. With bags and circles under dark eyes, they look as if they have stared for ages and that they long for sleep. Yet none dare to close their eyes as they know they will only wake unsettled from dreams where insatiable dragons will swallow up their spears, again and again, one after another, and breathe red fire under a sky of molten gold.