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In any city, in any country, go to any morgue or hospital you can find. When you reach the front desk, ask to visit someone who calls herself "The Holder of Famine." The attendant will glare at you and mutter darkly under his breath, but otherwise ignore your request. Tell him, "I can sate her appetite," and he will raise his eyebrow incredulously, but arise to lead you up the hall, before leaving you to fend for yourself.
The hall you begin in will slowly become a new hall, utterly different from the orderliness of the institution you were last in. The walls will be full of pockmarks, the floors littered with emaciated bodies and mutilated corpses. The attendant will pay no mind to the death around him as he leads you up, and it is best for your own sake that you behave the same way. There will be a trapdoor before you, made of rotting wood and rusting iron. Open it cautiously, and look down into the darkness.
If blood-red eyes stare back up at you, IMMEDIATELY scream to it, "I am not yours!" If the eyes disappear, it is safe to proceed. If the creature begins to growl, close your eyes and pray for a quick death, as unlikely as it will be.
Once you finish descending into the darkness, the trapdoor will close and lock above you, leaving you alone in hellish silence. Do not move an inch, do not talk, do not breathe; eventually, as your vision swims, candles will be set aflame at your feet. It is safe, for now.
The candles will light a trail for you. Venture off of the trail, for any reason, and you will be consumed by the darkness the light holds at bay. The road will be long, and you will grow weary and hungry; shun anything offered to you from the creatures passing in the dark. To even look at these gifts is to invite death.
At the end of the road, the candles will have aligned themselves in a circle about the radius of a grown man's leg. In the center will be a small table, with a white linen tablecloth and a silver platter set upon it. Behind it will be the corpse of an obese woman, hanging motionless from the noose about her neck. Her stench will assail your nostrils and the putrid sight of her rotting, mutilated body will cause you to falter, but you must continue forward. As you approach, you will notice two chairs. One will be beautiful, made of mahogany and gold-plated. One will be far uglier, made of rotting wood and covered in insects and stains. Use neither, and your soul will remain in your possession.
As you stand before the corpse, you must ask, loudly and clearly, "Why were they consumed?" The corpse will immediately raise its hands to its stomach, ripping it open before you. The wound will bleed saliva, the ribs will form sharp, malevolent fangs, and a massive tongue made from her intestines will loll out from the mouth-gash. The corpse will begin to speak, in a dry, harsh whisper of the horrors and magnificent cruelties performed in the times before times. As she speaks, you must stare at her stomach, and you must not move or speak. To do so would consign you to her pet's ravenous greed.
Once she has finished speaking, she will ask one of two questions. If she asks, "Did you enjoy my banquet?" then you are too late and the piece is lost, as is your life and all hope. Your failure will result in a death so horrific, painful, and excruciating that even the tormented souls of the damned would pity you. If she asks, "Are you my latest meal?" then respond, quickly and earnestly, "I wish to dine with you."
The corpse will be silent, and after a long wait, a shiny, red apple will roll up the gory tongue onto the silver platter. Do not eat it.
This apple is Object 27 of 538. It is the only thing that can satisfy their hunger.