They call it the Lighthouse, although whether that name arose from its function or from its form I cannot say. I know only what I saw when I visited the lighthouse — what I saw, what I did, and what I cannot make undone.

I came lost, for a spirit that does not know where it is going cannot find its way to heaven or to hell, and how better to find your way than by the Lighthouse? When I saw it I thought I had found the Heavenly Gates at last, and that those burning fires were the bright-burning souls of its denizens. I was right in that, at least: the gathered, pressing lights of that many windowed-place were, after all, souls.

Or, at any rate, they used to be.