Huma and the enormous mute eunuch helped Hillary onto the low dais. The Clinton spin room was warm and humid and dark.
"I'm cold, Huma. Blankets," Hillary said, gesturing weakly. Huma snapped her fingers at the eunuch and sent him lumbering away.
"They are coming my love. Are you sure you want to do this now? Should you not regain your strength?"
"It has to be now. If we wait until morning some of them might start thinking for themselves."
The eunuch approached through the gloom and began piling blankets on top of Hillary.
"Leave her legs free, Abeed!" Huma hissed.
"Show them in," Hillary whispered.
Huma crossed the room to the lighting controls and dropped the lights even further. When she opened the door to the press pen the light was startlingly bright as the chosen few bumbled and fumbled into the room.
"Take a seat," Huma said, smacking a few to keep them moving.
"Come in, my friends, come in," Hillary said, her voice a reedy rasp.
"Sit down," Mook screamed after following the last one in. He was already stroking an erection through the thin fabric of his pants.
Hillary coughed weakly. "Sorry," she said. "Pneumonia, you know." The press corps laughed knowingly.
"It is time my friends. Time for communion," Hillary told them.
"Communion," they said as one.
They leaned back on their cushions and opened their mouths for the gray-pink intestacles slithering out from under the mound of Hillary's blankets.