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SerenityNightshade's Journal


SerenityNightshade's Journal

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4 entries this month

 

The offier of Sacrifice

11:28 Jan 27 2009
Times Read: 615


"If they restore not to him that which is his own, and possess him peaceably of it, but suffer him to remain injured and damnifyed; let him be separated from the Lord God Creatour, and be accursed, and unpardoned, and undissolvable after death in this World, and in the other which is to come. Let Wood, Stones, and Iron be dissolved but not they: May they inherit the Leprosie of Gehazi, and the Confusion of Judas; may the earth be divided and devour them like Dathan and Abiram; may they fight and tremble on earth like Cain, and the wrath of God be upon their heads and Countenances; may they see nothing of that for which they labour, and beg their Bread all the days of their lives; may their Works, Possessions, Labours, a Services be accursed; always without effect or success, and blown away like dust; may they have the curses of the holy and righteous Patriarchs Abram, Isaac and Jacob; of the 318 Saints who were the Divine Fathers of the Synod of Nice, and of all other holy Synods; and being without the Church of Christ, let no man administer unto them the things of the Church, or bless them, or offer Sacrifice for them, or give them the blessed Bread, or eat, or drink, or work with them, or converse with them; and after death, let no man bury them, in penalty of being under the same state of Excommunication, for so let them remain until they have performed what is here written with the hands of God."


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The Vampyre

09:41 Jan 27 2009
Times Read: 616


It happened that in the midst of the dissipations attendant upon London

winter, there appeared at the various parties of the leaders of the ton a

nobleman more remarkable for his singularities, than his rank. He gazed upon

the mirth around him, as if he could not participate therein. Apparently,

the light laughter of the fair only attracted his attention, that he might

by a look quell it and throw fear into those breasts where thoughtlessness

reigned. Those who felt this sensation of awe, could not explain whence it

arose: some attributed it to the dead grey eye, which, fixing upon the

object's face, did not seem to penetrate, and at one glance to pierce

through to the inward workings of the heart; but fell upon the cheek with a

leaden ray that weighed upon the skin it could not pass. His peculiarities

caused him to be invited to every house; all wished to see him, and those

who had been accustomed to violent excitement, and now felt the weight of

ennui, were pleased at having something in their presence capable of

engaging their attention. In spite of the deadly hue of his face, which

never gained a wanner tint, either from the blush of modesty, or from the

strong emotion of passion, though its form and outline were beautiful, many

of the female hunters after notoriety attempted to win his attentions, and

gain, at least, some marks of what they might term affection: Lady Mercer,

who had been the mockery of every monster shewn in drawing-rooms since her

marriage, threw herself in his way, and did all but put on the dress of a

mountebank, to attract his notice -- though in vain; -- when she stood

before him, though his eyes were apparently fixed upon hers, still it seemed

as if they were unperceived; -- even her unappalled impudence was baffled,

and she left the field. But though the common adultress could not influence

even the guidance of his eyes, it was not that the female sex was

indifferent to him: yet such was the apparent caution with which he spoke to

the virtuous wife and innocent daughter, that few knew he ever addressed

himself to females. He had, however, the reputation of a winning tongue; and

whether it was that it even overcame the dread of his singular character, or

that they were moved by his apparent hatred of vice, he was as often among

those females who form the boast of their sex from their domestic virtues,

as among those who sully it by their vices.



About the same time, there came to London a young gentleman of the name of

Aubrey: he was an orphan left with an only sister in the possession of great

wealth, by parents who died while he was yet in childhood. Left also to

himself by guardians, who thought it their duty merely to take care of his

fortune, while they relinquished the more important charge of his mind to

the care of mercenary subalterns, he cultivated more his imagination than

his judgment. He had, hence, that high romantic feeling of honour and

candour, which daily ruins so many milliners' apprentices. He believed all

to sympathise with virtue, and thought that vice was thrown in by Providence

merely for the picturesque effect of the scene, as we see in romances: he

thought that the misery of a cottage merely consisted in the vesting of

clothes, which were as warm, but which were better adapted to the painter's

eye by their irregular folds and various coloured patches. He thought, in

fine, that the dreams of poets were the realities of life. He was handsome,

frank, and rich: for these reasons, upon his entering into the gay circles,

many mothers surrounded him, striving which should describe with least truth

their languishing or romping favourites: the daughters at the same time, by

their brightening countenances when he approached, and by their sparkling

eyes, when he opened his lips, soon led him into false notions of his

talents and his merit. Attached as he was to the romance of his solitary

hours, he was startled at finding, that, except in the tallow and wax

candles that flickered, not from the presence of a ghost, but from want of

snuffing, there was no foundation in real life for any of that congeries of

pleasing pictures and descriptions contained in those volumes, from which he

had formed his study. Finding, however, some compensation in his gratified

vanity, he was about to relinquish his dreams, when the extraordinary being

we have above described, crossed him in his career.



He watched him; and the very impossibility of forming an idea of the

character of a man entirely absorbed in himself, who gave few other signs of

his observation of external objects, than the tacit assent to their

existence, implied by the avoidance of their contact: allowing his

imagination to picture every thing that flattered its propensity to

extravagant ideas, he soon formed this object into the hero of a romance,

and determined to observe the offspring of his fancy, rather than the person

before him. He became acquainted with him, paid him attentions, and so far

advanced upon his notice, that his presence was always recognised. He

gradually learnt that Lord Ruthven's affairs were embarrassed, and soon

found, from the notes of preparation in ---- Street, that he was about to

travel. Desirous of gaining some information respecting this singular

character, who, till now, had only whetted his curiosity, he hinted to his

guardians, that it was time for him to perform the tour, which for many

generations has been thought necessary to enable the young to take some

rapid steps in the career of vice towards putting themselves upon an

equality with the aged, and not allowing them to appear as if fallen from

the skies, whenever scandalous intrigues are mentioned as the subjects of

pleasantry or of praise, according to the degree of skill shewn in carrying

them on. They consented: and Aubrey immediately mentioning his intentions to

Lord Ruthven, was surprised to receive from him a proposal to join him.

Flattered such a mark of esteem from him, who, apparently, had nothing in

common with other men, he gladly accepted it, and in a few days they had

passed the circling waters.



Hitherto, Aubrey had had no opportunity of studying Lord Ruthven's

character, and now he found, that, though many more of his actions were

exposed to his view, the results offered different conclusions from the

apparent motives to his conduct. His companion was profuse in his

liberality; -- the idle, the vagabond, and the beggar, received from his

hand more than enough to relieve their immediate wants. But Aubrey could not

avoid remarking, that it was not upon the virtuous, reduced to indigence by

the misfortunes attendant even upon virtue, that he bestowed his alms; --

these were sent from the door with hardly suppressed sneers; but when the

profligate came to ask something, not to relieve his wants, but to allow him

to wallow in his lust, to sink him still deeper in his iniquity, he was sent

away with rich charity. This was, however, attributed by him to the greater

importunity of the vicious, which generally prevails over the retiring

bashfulness of the virtuous indigent. There was one circumstance about the

charity of his Lordship, which was still more impressed upon his mind: all

those upon whom it was bestowed, inevitably found that there was a curse

upon it, for they were all either led to the scaffold, or sunk to the lowest

and the most abject misery. At Brussels and other towns through which they

passed, Aubrey was surprised at the apparent eagerness with which his

companion sought for the centres of all fashionable vice; there he entered

into all the spirit of the faro table: he betted and always gambled with

success, except where the known sharper was his antagonist, and then he lost

even more than he gained; but it was always with the same unchanging face,

with which he generally watched the society around: it was not, however, so

when he encountered the rash youthful novice, or the luckless father of a

numerous family; then his very wish seemed fortune's law -- this apparent

abstractedness of mind was laid aside, and his eyes sparkled with more fire

than that of the cat whilst dallying with the half-dead mouse. In every

town, he left the formerly affluent youth, torn from the circle he adorned,

cursing, in the solitude of a dungeon, the fate that had drawn him within

the reach of this fiend; whilst many a father sat frantic, amidst the

speaking looks of mute hungry children, without a single farthing of his

late immense wealth, wherewith to buy even sufficient to satisfy their

present craving. Yet he took no money from the gambling table; but

immediately lost, to the ruiner of many, the last gilder he had just

snatched from the convulsive grasp of the innocent: this might but be the

result of a certain degree of knowledge, which was not, however, capable of

combating the cunning of the more experienced. Aubrey often wished to

represent this to his friend, and beg him to resign that charity and

pleasure which proved the ruin of all, and did not tend to his own profit;

but he delayed it -- for each day he hoped his friend would give him some

opportunity of speaking frankly and openly to him; however, this never

occurred. Lord Ruthven in his carriage, and amidst the various wild and rich

scenes of nature, was always the same: his eye spoke less than his lip; and

though Aubrey was near the object of his curiosity, he obtained no greater

gratification from it than the constant excitement of vainly wishing to

break that mystery, which to his exalted imagination began to assume the

appearance of something supernatural.



They soon arrived at Rome, and Aubrey for a time lost sight of his

companion; he left him in daily attendance upon the morning circle of an

Italian countess, whilst he went in search of the memorials of another

almost deserted city. Whilst he was thus engaged, letters arrived from

England, which he opened with eager impatience; the first was from his

sister, breathing nothing but affection; the others were from his guardians,

the latter astonished him; if it had before entered into his imagination

that there was an evil power resident in his companion these seemed to give

him almost sufficient reason for the belief. His guardians insisted upon his

immediately leaving his friend, and urged that his character was dreadfully

vicious, for that the possession of irresistible powers of seduction,

rendered his licentious habits more dangerous to society. It had been

discovered, that his contempt for the adultress had not originated in hatred

of her character; but that he had required, to enhance his gratification,

that his victim, the partner of his guilt, should be hurled from the

pinnacle of unsullied virtue, down to the lowest abyss of infamy and

degradation: in fine, that all those females whom he had sought, apparently

on account of their virtue, had, since his departure, thrown even the mask

aside, and had not scrupled to expose the whole deformity of their vices to

the public gaze.



Aubrey determined upon leaving one, whose character had not shown a single

bright point on which to rest the eye. He resolved to invent some plausible

pretext for abandoning him altogether, purposing, in the mean while, to

watch him more closely, and to let no slight circumstances pass by

unnoticed. He entered into the same circle, and soon perceived, that his

Lordship was endeavouring to work upon the inexperience of the daughter of

the lady whose house he chiefly frequented. In Italy, it is seldom that an

unmarried female is met with in society; he was therefore obliged to carry

on his plans in secret; but Aubrey's eye followed him in all his windings,

and soon discovered that an assignation had been appointed, which would most

likely end in the ruin of an innocent, though thoughtless girl. Losing no

time, he entered the apartment of Lord Ruthven, and abruptly asked him his

intentions with respect to the lady, informing him at the same time that he

was aware of his being about to meet her that very night. Lord Ruthven

answered, that his intentions were such as he supposed all would have upon

such an occasion; and upon being pressed whether he intended to marry her,

merely laughed. Aubrey retired; and, immediately writing a note, to say,

that from that moment he must decline accompanying his Lordship in the

remainder of their proposed tour, he ordered his servant to seek other

apartments, and calling upon the mother of the lady informed her of all he

knew, not only with regard to her daughter, but also concerning the

character of his Lordship. The assignation was prevented. Lord Ruthven next

day merely sent his servant to notify his complete assent to a separation;

but did not hint any suspicion of his plans having been foiled by Aubrey's

interposition.



Having left Rome, Aubrey directed his steps towards Greece, and crossing the

Peninsula, soon found himself at Athens. He then fixed residence in the

house of a Greek; and soon occupied himself in tracing the faded records of

ancient glory upon monuments that apparently, ashamed of chronicling the

deeds of freemen only before slaves, had hidden themselves beneath the

sheltering soil or many coloured lichen. Under the same roof as himself,

existed a being, so beautiful and delicate, that she might have formed the

model for a painter, wishing to portray on canvass the promised hope of the

faithful in Mahomet's paradise, save that her eyes spoke too much mind for

any one to think she could belong to those who had no souls. As she danced

upon the plain, or tripped along the mountain's side, one would have thought

the gazelle a poor type of her beauties; for who would have exchanged her

eye, apparently the eye of animated nature, for that sleepy luxurious look

of the animal suited but to the taste of an epicure. The light step of

Ianthe often accompanied Aubrey in his search after antiquities, and often

would the unconscious girl, engaged in the pursuit of a Kashmere butterfly,

show the whole beauty of her form, boating as it were upon the wind, to the

eager gaze of him, who forgot the letters he had just decyphered upon an

almost effaced tablet, in the contemplation of her sylph-like figure. Often

would her tresses falling, as she flitted around, exhibit in the sun's ray

such delicately brilliant and swiftly fading hues, as might well excuse the

forgetfulness of the antiquary, who let escape from his mind the very object

he had before thought of vital importance to the proper interpretation of a

passage in Pausanias. But why attempt to describe charms which all feel, but

none can appreciate? -- It was innocence, youth, and beauty, unaffected by

crowded drawing-rooms and stifling balls. Whilst he drew those remains of

which he wished to preserve a memorial for his future hours, she would stand

by, and watch the magic effects of his pencil, in tracing the scenes of her

native place; she would then describe to him the circling dance upon the

open plain, would paint to him in all the glowing colours of youthful

memory, the marriage pomp she remembered viewing in her infancy; and then,

turning to subjects that had evidently made a greater impression upon her

mind, would tell him all the supernatural tales of her nurse. Her

earnestness and apparent belief of what she narrated, excited the interest

even of Aubrey; and often as she told him the tale of the living vampyre,

who had passed years amidst his friends, and dearest ties, forced every

year, by feeding upon the life of a lovely female to prolong his existence

for the ensuing months, his blood would run cold, whilst he attempted to

laugh her out of such idle and horrible fantasies; but Ianthe cited to him

the names of old men, who had at last detected one living among themselves,

after several of their near relatives and children had been found marked

with the stamp of the fiend's appetite; and when she found him so

incredulous, she begged of him to believe her, for it had been remarked,

that those who had dared to question their existence, always had some proof

given, which obliged them, with grief and heartbreaking, to confess it was

true. She detailed to him the traditional appearance of these monsters, and

his horror was increased by hearing a pretty accurate description of Lord

Ruthven; he, however, still persisted in persuading her, that there could be

no truth in her fears, though at the same time he wondered at the many

coincidences which had all tended to excite a belief in the supernatural

power of Lord Ruthven.



Aubrey began to attach himself more and more to Ianthe; her innocence, so

contrasted with all the affected virtues of the women among whom he had

sought for his vision of romance, won his heart and while he ridiculed the

idea of a young man of English habits, marrying an uneducated Greek girl,

still he found himself more and more attached to the almost fairy form

before him. He would tear himself at times from her, and, forming a plan for

some antiquarian research, would depart, determined not to return until his

object was attained; but he always found it impossible to fix his attention

upon the ruins around him, whilst in his mind he retained an image that

seemed alone the rightful possessor of his thoughts. Ianthe was unconscious

of his love, and was ever the same frank infantile being he had first known.

She always seemed to part from him with reluctance; but it was because she

had no longer any one with whom she could visit her favourite haunts, whilst

her guardian was occupied in sketching or uncovering some fragment which had

yet escaped the destructive hand of time. She had appealed to her parents on

the subject of Vampyres, and they both, with several present, affirmed their

existence, pale with horror at the very name. Soon after, Aubrey determined

to proceed upon one of his excursions, which was to detain him for a few

hours; when they heard the name of the place, they all at once begged of him

not to return at night, as he must necessarily pass through a wood, where no

Greek would ever remain, after the day had closed, upon any consideration.

They described it as the resort of the vampyres in their nocturnal orgies

and denounced the most heavy evils as impending upon him who dared to cross

their path. Aubrey made light of their representations, and tried to laugh

them out of the idea; but when he saw them shudder at his daring thus to

mock a superior, infernal power, the very name of which apparently made

their blood freeze, he was silent.



Next morning Aubrey set off upon his excursion unattended; he was surprised

to observe the melancholy face of his host, and was concerned to find that

his words, mocking the belief of those horrible fiends, had inspired them

with such terror. When he was about to depart, Ianthe came to the side of

his horse, and earnestly begged of him to return, ere night allowed the

power of these beings to be put in action; -- he promised. He was, however,

so occupied in his research, that he did not perceive that day-light would

soon end, and that in the horizon there was one of those specks which, in

the warmer climates, so rapidly gather into a tremendous mass, and pour all

their rage upon the devoted country. -- He at last, however, mounted his

horse, determined to make up by speed for his delay: but it was too late.

Twilight, in these southern climates, is almost unknown; immediately the sun

sets, night begins: and ere he had advanced far, the power of the storm was

above -- its echoing thunders had scarcely an interval of rest; -- its thick

heavy rain forced its way through the canopying foliage, whilst the blue

forked lightning seemed to fall and radiate at his very feet. Suddenly his

horse took fright, and he was carried with dreadful rapidity through the

entangled forest. The animal at last, through fatigue, stopped, and he

found, by the glare of lightning, that he was in the neighbourhood of a

hovel that hardly lifted itself up from the masses of dead leaves and

brushwood which surrounded it. Dismounting, he approached, hoping to find

some one to guide him to the town, or at least trusting to obtain shelter

from the pelting of the storm. As he approached, the thunders, for a moment

silent, allowed him to hear the dreadful shrieks of a woman mingling with

the stifled, exultant mockery of a laugh, continued in one almost unbroken

sound; -- he was startled: but, roused by the thunder which again rolled

over his head, he, with a sudden effort, forced open the door of the hut. He

found himself in utter darkness: the sound, however, guided him. He was

apparently unperceived; for, though he called, still the sounds continued,

and no notice was taken of him. He found himself in contact with some one,

whom he immediately seized; when a voice cried, "Again baffled!" to which a

loud laugh succeeded; and he felt himself grappled by one whose strength

seemed superhuman: determined to sell his life as dearly as he could, he

struggled; but it was in vain: he was lifted from his feet and hurled with

enormous force against the ground: -- his enemy threw himself upon him, and

kneeling upon his breast, had placed his hands upon his throat when the

glare of many torches penetrating through the hole that gave light in the

day, disturbed him; -- he instantly rose, and, leaving his prey, rushed

through the door, and in a moment the crashing of branches, as he broke

through the wood, was no longer heard. The storm was now still; and Aubrey,

incapable of moving, was soon heard by those without. They entered; the

light of their torches fell upon mud walls, and the thatch loaded on every

individual straw with heavy flakes of soot. At the desire of Aubrey they

searched for her who had attracted him by her cries; he was again left in

darkness; but what was his horror, when the light of the torches once more

burst upon him, to perceive the airy form of his fair conductress brought in

a lifeless corpse. He shut his eyes, hoping that it was but a vision arising

from his disturbed imagination; but he again saw the same form, when he

unclosed them, stretched by his side. There was no colour upon her cheek,

not even upon her lip; yet there was a stillness about her face that seemed

almost as attaching as the life that once dwelt there: -- upon her neck and

breast was blood, and upon her throat were the marks of teeth having opened

the vein: -- to this the men pointed, crying, simultaneously struck with

horror, "A Vampyre! a Vampyre!" A litter was quickly formed, and Aubrey was

laid by the side of her who had lately been to him the object of so many

bright and fairy visions, now fallen; with the flower of life that had died

within her. He knew not what his thoughts were -- his mind was benumbed and

seemed to shun reflection and take refuge in vacancy; -- he held almost

unconsciously in his hand a naked dagger of a particular construction, which

had been found in the hut. They were soon met by different parties who had

been engaged in the search of her whom a mother had missed. Their lamentable

cries as they approached the city, forewarned the parents of some dreadful

catastrophe. -- To describe their grief would be impossible; but when they

ascertained the cause of their child's death, they looked at Aubrey and

pointed to the corpse. They were inconsolable; both died brokenhearted.



Aubrey being put to bed was seized with a most violent fever, and was often

delirious; in these intervals he would call upon Lord Ruthven and upon

Ianthe -- by some unaccountable combination he seemed to beg of his former

companion to spare the being he loved. At other times he would imprecate

maledictions upon his head, and curse him as her destroyer. Lord Ruthven

chanced at this time to arrive at Athens, and from whatever motive, upon

hearing of the state of Aubrey, immediately placed himself in the same

house, and became his constant attendant. When the latter recovered from his

delirium, he was horrified and startled at the sight of him whose image he

had now combined with that of a Vampyre; but Lord Ruthven, by his kind

words, implying almost repentance for the fault that had caused their

separation, and still more by the attention, anxiety, and care which he

showed, soon reconciled him to his presence. His lordship seemed quite

changed; he no longer appeared that apathetic being who had so astonished

Aubrey; but as soon as his convalescence began to be rapid, he again

gradually retired into the same state of mind, and Aubrey perceived no

difference from the former man, except that at times he was surprised to

meet his gaze fixed intently upon him, with a smile of malicious exultation

playing upon his lips: he knew not why, but this smile haunted him. During

the last stage of the invalid's recovery, Lord Ruthven was apparently

engaged in watching the tideless waves raised by the cooling breeze, or in

marking the progress of those orbs, circling, like our world, the moveless

sun; -- indeed, he appeared to wish to avoid the eyes of all.



Aubrey's mind, by this shock, was much weakened, and that elasticity of

spirit which had once so distinguished him now seemed to have fled for ever.

He was now as much a lover of solitude and silence as Lord Ruthven; but much

as he wished for solitude, his mind could not find it in the neighbourhood

of Athens; if he sought it amidst the ruins he had formerly frequented,

Ianthe's form stood by his side; -- if he sought it in the woods, her light

step would appear wandering amidst the underwood, in quest of the modest

violet; then suddenly turning round, would show, to his wild imagination,

her pale face and wounded throat, with a meek smile upon her lips. He

determined to fly scenes, every feature of which created such bitter

associations in his mind. He proposed to Lord Ruthven, to whom he held

himself bound by the tender care he had taken of him during his illness,

that they should visit those parts of Greece neither had yet seen. They

travelled in every direction, and sought every spot to which a recollection

could be attached: but though they thus hastened from place to place, yet

they seemed not to heed what they gazed upon. They heard much of robbers,

but they gradually began to slight these reports, which they imagined were

only the invention of individuals, whose interest it was to excite the

generosity of those whom they defended from pretended dangers. In

consequence of thus neglecting the advice of the inhabitants, on one

occasion they travelled with only a few guards, more to serve as guides than

as a defence. Upon entering, however, a narrow defile, at the bottom of

which was the bed of a torrent, with large masses of rock brought down from

the neighbouring precipices, they had reason to repent their negligence; for

scarcely were the whole of the party engaged in the narrow pass, when they

were startled by the whistling of bullets close to their heads, and by the

echoed report of several guns. In an instant their guards had left them,

and, placing themselves behind rocks, had begun to fire in the direction

whence the report came. Lord Ruthven and Aubrey, imitating their example,

retired for a moment behind the sheltering turn of the defile: but ashamed

of being thus detained by a foe, who with insulting shouts bade them

advance, and being exposed to unresisting slaughter, if any of the robbers

should climb above and take them in the rear, they determined at once to

rush forward in search of the enemy. Hardly had they lost the shelter of

rock, when Lord Ruthven received a shot in the shoulder, which brought him

to the ground. Aubrey hastened to his assistance; and, no longer heeding the

contest or his own peril, was soon surprised by seeing the robbers' faces

around him -- his guards having, upon Lord Ruthven's being wounded,

immediately thrown up their arms and surrendered.



By promises of great reward, Aubrey soon induced them to convey his wounded

friend to a neighbouring cabin; and having agreed upon a ransom, he was no

more disturbed by their presence -- they being content merely to guard the

entrance till their comrade should return with the promised sum, for which

he had an order. Lord Ruthven's strength rapidly decreased; in two days

mortification ensued, and death seemed advancing with hasty steps. His

conduct and appearance had not changed; he seemed as unconscious of pain as

he had been of the objects about him: but towards the close of the last

evening, his mind became apparently uneasy, and his eye often fixed upon

Aubrey, who was induced to offer his assistance with more than usual

earnestness -- "Assist me! you may save me -- you may do more than that -- I

mean not life, I heed the death of my existence as little as that of the

passing day; but you may save my honour, your friend's honour." -- "How?

tell me how? I would do any thing," replied Aubrey. -- "I need but little,

my life ebbs apace -- I cannot explain the whole -- but if you would conceal

all you know of me, my honour were free from stain in the world's mouth --

and if my death were unknown for some time in England -- I -- I -- but

life." -- "It shall not be known." -- "Swear!" cried the dying man raising

himself with exultant violence. "Swear by all your soul reveres, by all your

nature fears, swear that for a year and a day you will not impart your

knowledge of my crimes or death to any living being in any way, whatever may

happen, or whatever you may see." -- His eyes seemed bursting from their

sockets; "I swear!" said Aubrey; he sunk laughing upon his pillow, and

breathed no more.



Aubrey retired to rest, but did not sleep; the many circumstances attending

his acquaintance with this man rose upon his mind, and he knew not why; when

he remembered his oath a cold shivering came over him, as if from the

presentiment of something horrible awaiting him. Rising early in the

morning, he was about to enter the hovel in which he had left the corpse,

when a robber met him, and informed him that it was no longer there, having

been conveyed by himself and comrades, upon his retiring, to the pinnacle of

a neighbouring mount, according to a promise they had given his lordship,

that it should be exposed to the first cold ray of the moon that rose after

his death. Aubrey astonished, and taking several of the men, determined to

go and bury it upon the spot where it lay. But, when he had mounted to the

summit he found no trace of either the corpse or the clothes, though the

robbers swore they pointed out the identical rock on which they had laid the

body. For a time his mind was bewildered in conjectures, but he at last

returned, convinced that they had buried the corpse for the sake of the

clothes.



Weary of a country in which he had met with such terrible misfortunes, and

in which all apparently conspired to heighten that superstitious melancholy

that had seized upon his mind, he resolved to leave it, and soon arrived at

Smyrna. While waiting for a vessel to convey him to Otranto, or to Naples,

he occupied himself in arranging those effects he had with him belonging to

Lord Ruthven. Amongst other things there was a case containing several

weapons of offence, more or less adapted to ensure the death of the victim.

There were several daggers and ataghans. Whilst turning them over, and

examining their curious forms, what was his surprise at finding a sheath

apparently ornamented in the same style as the dagger discovered in the

fatal hut; -- he shuddered; hastening to gain further proof, he found the

weapon, and his horror may be imagined when he discovered that it fitted,

though peculiarly shaped, the sheath he held in his hand. His eyes seemed to

need no further certainty -- they seemed gazing to be bound to the dagger,

yet still he wished to disbelieve; but the particular form, the same varying

tints upon the haft and sheath were alike in splendour on both, and left no

room for doubt; there were also drops of blood on each.



He left Smyrna, and on his way home, at Rome, his first inquiries were

concerning the lady he had attempted to snatch from Lord Ruthven's seductive

arts. Her parents were in distress, their fortune ruined, and she had not

been heard of since the departure of his lordship. Aubrey's mind became

almost broken under so many repeated horrors; he was afraid that this lady

had fallen a victim to the destroyer of Ianthe. He became morose and silent;

and his only occupation consisted in urging the speed of the postilions, as

if he were going to save the life of some one he held dear. He arrived at

Calais; a breeze, which seemed obedient to his will, soon wafted him to the

English shores; and he hastened to the mansion of his fathers, and there,

for a moment, appeared to lose, in the embraces and caresses of his sister,

all memory of the past. If she before, by her infantine caresses, had gained

his affection, now that the woman began to appear, she was still more

attaching as a companion.



Miss Aubrey had not that winning grace which gains the gaze and applause of

the drawing-room assemblies. There was none of that light brilliancy which

only exists in the heated atmosphere of a crowded apartment. Her blue eye

was never lit up by the levity of the mind beneath. There was a melancholy

charm about it which did not seem to arise from misfortune, but from some

feeling within, that appeared to indicate a soul conscious of a brighter

realm. Her step was not that light footing, which strays where'er a

butterfly or a colour may attract -- it was sedate and pensive. When alone,

her face was never brightened by the smile of joy; but when her brother

breathed to her his affection, and would in her presence forget those griefs

she knew destroyed his rest, who would have exchanged her smile for that of

the voluptuary? It seemed as if those eyes, that face were then playing in

the light of their own native sphere. She was yet only eighteen, and had not

been presented to the world, it having been thought by her guardians more

fit that her presentation should be delayed until her brother's return from

the continent, when he might be her protector. It was now, therefore,

resolved that the next drawing-room, which was fast approaching, should be

the epoch of her entry into the "busy scene." Aubrey would rather have

remained in the mansion of his fathers, and feed upon the melancholy which

overpowered him. He could not feel interest about the frivolities of

fashionable strangers, when his mind had been so torn by the events he had

witnessed; but he determined to sacrifice his own comfort to the protection

of his sister. They soon arrived in town, and prepared for the next day,

which had been announced as a drawing- room.



The crowd was excessive -- a drawing-room had not been held for long time,

and all who were anxious to bask in the smile of royalty, hastened thither.

Aubrey was there with his sister. While he was standing in a corner by

himself, heedless of all around him, engaged in the remembrance that the

first time he had seen Lord Ruthven was in that very place -- he felt

himself suddenly seized by the arm, and a voice he recognized too well,

sounded in his ear -- "Remember your oath." He had hardly courage to turn,

fearful of seeing a spectre that would blast him, when he perceived, at a

little distance, the same figure which had attracted his notice on this spot

upon his first entry into society. He gazed till his limbs almost refusing

to bear their weight, he was obliged to take the arm of a friend, and

forcing a passage through the crowd, he threw himself into his carriage, and

was driven home. He paced the room with hurried steps, and fixed his hands

upon his head, as if he were afraid his thoughts were bursting from his

brain. Lord Ruthven again before him -- circumstances started up in dreadful

array -- the dagger -- his oath. -- He roused himself, he could not believe

it possible -- the dead rise again! -- He thought his imagination had

conjured up the image his mind was resting upon. It was impossible that it

could be real -- he determined, therefore, to go again into society; for

though he attempted to ask concerning Lord Ruthven, the name hung upon his

lips and he could not succeed in gaining information. He went a few nights

after with his sister to the assembly of a near relation. Leaving her under

the protection of a matron, he retired into a recess, and there gave himself

up to his own devouring thoughts. Perceiving, at last, that many were

leaving, he roused himself, and entering another room, found his sister

surrounded by several, apparently in earnest conversation; he attempted to

pass and get near her, when one, whom he requested to move, turned round,

and revealed to him those features he most abhorred. He sprang forward,

seized his sister's arm, and, with hurried step, forced her towards the

street: at the door he found himself impeded by the crowd of servants who

were waiting for their lords; and while he was engaged in passing them, he

again heard that voice whisper close to him -- "Remember your oath!" -- He

did not dare to turn, but, hurrying his sister, soon reached home.



Aubrey became almost distracted. If before his mind had been absorbed by one

subject, how much more completely was it engrossed now that the certainty of

the monster's living again pressed upon his thoughts. His sister's

attentions were now unheeded, and it was in vain that she intreated him to

explain to her what had caused his abrupt conduct. He only uttered a few

words, and those terrified her. The more he thought, the more he was

bewildered. His oath startled him; -- was he then to allow this monster to

roam, bearing ruin upon his breath, amidst all he held dear, and not avert

its progress? His very sister might have been touched by him. But even if he

were to break his oath, and disclose his suspicions, who would believe him?

He thought of employing his own hand to free the world from such a wretch;

but death, he remembered, had been already mocked. For days he remained in

state; shut up in his room, he saw no one, and ate only when his sister

came, who, with eyes streaming with tears, besought him, for her sake, to

support nature. At last, no longer capable of bearing stillness and

solitude, he left his house, roamed from street to street, anxious to fly

that image which haunted him. His dress became neglected, and he wandered,

as often exposed to the noon-day sun as to the mid-night damps. He was no

longer to be recognized; at first he returned with evening to the house; but

at last he laid him down to rest wherever fatigue overtook him. His sister,

anxious for his safety, employed people to follow him; but they were soon

distanced by him who fled from a pursuer swifter than any -- from thought.

His conduct, however, suddenly changed. Struck with the idea that he left by

his absence the whole of his friends, with a fiend amongst them, of whose

presence they were unconscious, he determined to enter again into society,

and watch him closely, anxious to forewarn, in spite of his oath, all whom

Lord Ruthven approached with intimacy. But when he entered into a room, his

haggard and suspicious looks were so striking, his inward shuddering so

visible, that his sister was at last obliged to beg of him to abstain from

seeking, for her sake, a society which affected him so strongly. When,

however, remonstrance proved unavailing, the guardians thought proper to

interpose, and, fearing that his mind was becoming alienated, they thought

it high time to resume again that trust which had been before imposed upon

them by Aubrey's parents.



Desirous of saving him from the injuries and sufferings he had daily

encountered in his wanderings, and of preventing him from exposing to the

general eye those marks of what they considered folly, they engaged a

physician to reside in the house, and take constant care of him. He hardly

appeared to notice it, so completely was his mind absorbed by one terrible

subject. His incoherence became at last so great that he was confined to his

chamber. There he would often lie for days, incapable of being roused. He

had become emaciated, his eyes had attained a glassy lustre; -- the only

sign of affection and recollection remaining displayed itself upon the entry

of his sister; then he would sometimes start, and, seizing her hands, with

looks that severely afflicted her, he would desire her not to touch him.

"Oh, do not touch him -- if your love for me is aught, do not go near him!"

When, however, she inquired to whom he referred, his only answer was, "True!

true!" and again he sank into a state, whence not even she could rouse him.

This lasted many months: gradually, however, as the year was passing, his

incoherences became less frequent, and his mind threw off a portion of its

gloom, whilst his guardians observed, that several times in the day he would

count upon his fingers a definite number, and then smile.



The time had nearly elapsed, when, upon the last day of the year, one of his

guardians entering his room, began to converse with his physician upon the

melancholy circumstance of Aubrey's being in so awful a situation, when his

sister was going next day to be married. Instantly Aubrey's attention was

attracted; he asked anxiously to whom. Glad of this mark of returning

intellect, of which they feared he had been deprived, they mentioned the

name of the Earl of Marsden. Thinking this was a young Earl whom he had met

with in society, Aubrey seemed pleased, and astonished them still more by

his expressing his intention to be present at the nuptials, and desiring to

see his sister. They answered not, but in a few minutes his sister was with

him. He was apparently again capable of being affected by the influence of

her lovely smile; for he pressed her to his breast, and kissed her cheek,

wet with tears, flowing at the thought of her brother's being once more

alive to the feelings of affection. He began to speak with all his wonted

warmth, and to congratulate her upon her marriage with a person so

distinguished for rank and every accomplishment; when he suddenly perceived

a locket upon her breast; opening it, what was his surprise at beholding the

features of the monster who had so long influenced his life. He seized the

portrait in a paroxysm of rage, and trampled it under foot. Upon her asking

him why he thus destroyed the resemblance of her future husband, he looked

as if he did not understand her; -- then seizing her hands, and gazing on

her with a frantic expression of countenance, he bade her swear that she

would never wed this monster, for he -- But he could not advance -- it

seemed as if that voice again bade him remember his oath -- he turned

suddenly round, thinking Lord Ruthven was near him but saw no one. In the

meantime the guardians and physician, who had heard the whole, and thought

this was but a return of his disorder, entered, and forcing him from Miss

Aubrey, desired her to leave him. He fell upon his knees to them, he

implored, he begged of them to delay but for one day. They, attributing this

to the insanity they imagined had taken possession of his mind endeavoured

to pacify him, and retired.



Lord Ruthven had called the morning after the drawing-room, and had been

refused with every one else. When he heard of Aubrey's ill health, he

readily understood himself to be the cause of it; but when he learned that

he was deemed insane, his exultation and pleasure could hardly be concealed

from those among whom he had gained this information. He hastened to the

house of his former companion, and, by constant attendance, and the pretence

of great affection for the brother and interest in his fate, he gradually

won the ear of Miss Aubrey. Who could resist his power? His tongue had

dangers and toils to recount -- could speak of himself as of an individual

having no sympathy with any being on the crowded earth, save with her to

whom he addressed himself; -- could tell how, since he knew her, his

existence had begun to seem worthy of preservation, if it were merely that

he might listen her soothing accents; -- in fine, he knew so well how to use

the serpent's art, or such was the will of fate, that he gained her

affections. The title of the elder branch falling at length to him, he

obtained an important embassy, which served as an excuse for hastening the

marriage (in spite of her brother's deranged state), which was to take place

the very day before his departure for the continent.



Aubrey, when he was left by the physician and his guardians, attempted to

bribe the servants, but in vain. He asked for pen and paper; it was given

him; he wrote a letter to his sister, conjuring her, as she valued her own

happiness, her own honour, and the honour of those now in the grave, who

once held her in their arms as their hope and the hope of their house, to

delay but for a few hours that marriage, on which he denounced the most

heavy curses. The servants promised they would deliver it; but giving it to

the physician, he thought it better not to harass any more the mind of Miss

Aubrey by, what he considered, the ravings of a maniac. Night passed on

without rest to the busy inmates of the house; and Aubrey heard, with a

horror that may more easily be conceived than described, the notes of busy

preparation. Morning came, and the sound of carriages broke upon his ear.

Aubrey grew almost frantic. The curiosity of the servants at last overcame

their vigilance; they gradually stole away, leaving him in the custody of an

helpless old woman. He seized the opportunity, with one bound was out of the

room, and in a moment found himself in the apartment where all were nearly

assembled. Lord Ruthven was the first to perceive him: he immediately

approached, and, taking his arm by force, hurried him from the room,

speechless with rage. When on the staircase, Lord Ruthven whispered in his

ear -- "Remember your oath, and know, if not my bride to day, your sister is

dishonoured. Women are frail!" So saying, he pushed him towards his

attendants, who, roused by the old woman, had come in search of him. Aubrey

could no longer support himself; his rage not finding vent, had broken a

blood-vessel, and he was conveyed to bed. This was not mentioned to his

sister, who was not present when he entered, as the physician was afraid of

agitating her. The marriage was solemnized, and the bride and bridegroom

left London.



Aubrey's weakness increased; the effusion of blood produced symptoms of the

near approach of death. He desired his sister's guardians might be called,

and when the midnight hour had struck, he related composedly what the reader

has perused -- he died immediately after.



The guardians hastened to protect Miss Aubrey; but when they arrived, it was

too late. Lord Ruthven had disappeared, and Aubrey's sister had glutted the

thirst of a VAMPYRE!


COMMENTS

-



 

A MOONLIGHT FABLE

09:38 Jan 27 2009
Times Read: 617








There was once a little man whose mother made him a beautiful suit

of clothes. It was green and gold and woven so that I cannot

describe how delicate and fine it was, and there was a tie of

orange fluffiness that tied up under his chin. And the buttons

in their newness shone like stars. He was proud and pleased by his

suit beyond measure, and stood before the long looking-glass when

first he put it on, so astonished and delighted with it that he

could hardly turn himself away.



He wanted to wear it everywhere and show it to all sorts of

people. He thought over all the places he had ever visited and all

the scenes he had ever heard described, and tried to imagine what

the feel of it would be if he were to go now to those scenes and

places wearing his shining suit, and he wanted to go out forthwith

into the long grass and the hot sunshine of the meadow wearing it.

Just to wear it! But his mother told him, "No." She told him he

must take great care of his suit, for never would he have another

nearly so fine; he must save it and save it and only wear it on

rare and great occasions. It was his wedding suit, she said. And

she took his buttons and twisted them up with tissue paper for fear

their bright newness should be tarnished, and she tacked little

guards over the cuffs and elbows and wherever the suit was most

likely to come to harm. He hated and resisted these things, but

what could he do? And at last her warnings and persuasions had

effect and he consented to take off his beautiful suit and fold it

into its proper creases and put it away. It was almost as though

he gave it up again. But he was always thinking of wearing it

and of the supreme occasion when some day it might be worn without

the guards, without the tissue paper on the buttons, utterly and

delightfully, never caring, beautiful beyond measure.



One night when he was dreaming of it, after his habit, he

dreamed he took the tissue paper from one of the buttons and found

its brightness a little faded, and that distressed him mightily in

his dream. He polished the poor faded button and polished it, and

if anything it grew duller. He woke up and lay awake thinking of

the brightness a little dulled and wondering how he would feel if

perhaps when the great occasion (whatever it might be) should

arrive, one button should chance to be ever so little short of its

first glittering freshness, and for days and days that thought

remained with him, distressingly. And when next his mother let him

wear his suit, he was tempted and nearly gave way to the temptation

just to fumble off one little bit of tissue paper and see if indeed

the buttons were keeping as bright as ever.



He went trimly along on his way to church full of this wild

desire. For you must know his mother did, with repeated and

careful warnings, let him wear his suit at times, on Sundays, for

example, to and fro from church, when there was no threatening of

rain, no dust nor anything to injure it, with its buttons covered

and its protections tacked upon it and a sunshade in his hand to

shadow it if there seemed too strong a sunlight for its colours.

And always, after such occasions, he brushed it over and folded it

exquisitely as she had taught him, and put it away again.



Now all these restrictions his mother set to the wearing of

his suit he obeyed, always he obeyed them, until one strange night

he woke up and saw the moonlight shining outside his window. It

seemed to him the moonlight was not common moonlight, nor the night

a common night, and for a while he lay quite drowsily with this odd

persuasion in his mind. Thought joined on to thought like things

that whisper warmly in the shadows. Then he sat up in his little

bed suddenly, very alert, with his heart beating very fast and a

quiver in his body from top to toe. He had made up his mind. He

knew now that he was going to wear his suit as it should be worn.

He had no doubt in the matter. He was afraid, terribly afraid, but

glad, glad.



He got out of his bed and stood a moment by the window looking

at the moonshine-flooded garden and trembling at the thing he meant

to do. The air was full of a minute clamor of crickets and

murmurings, of the infinitesimal shouting of little living things.

He went very gently across the creaking boards, for fear that he

might wake the sleeping house, to the big dark clothes-press

wherein his beautiful suit lay folded, and he took it out garment

by garment and softly and very eagerly tore off its tissue-paper

covering and its tacked protections, until there it was, perfect

and delightful as he had seen it when first his mother had given it

to him--a long time it seemed ago. Not a button had tarnished, not

a thread had faded on this dear suit of his; he was glad enough for

weeping as in a noiseless hurry he put it on. And then back he

went, soft and quick, to the window and looked out upon the garden

and stood there for a minute, shining in the moonlight, with his

buttons twinkling like stars, before he got out on the sill and,

making as little of a rustling as he could, clambered down to the

garden path below. He stood before his mother's house, and it was

white and nearly as plain as by day, with every window-blind but

his own shut like an eye that sleeps. The trees cast still shadows

like intricate black lace upon the wall.



The garden in the moonlight was very different from the garden

by day; moonshine was tangled in the hedges and stretched in

phantom cobwebs from spray to spray. Every flower was gleaming

white or crimson black, and the air was aquiver with the thridding

of small crickets and nightingales singing unseen in the depths of

the trees.



There was no darkness in the world, but only warm, mysterious

shadows; and all the leaves and spikes were edged and lined with

iridescent jewels of dew. The night was warmer than any night had

ever been, the heavens by some miracle at once vaster and nearer,

and spite of the great ivory-tinted moon that ruled the world, the

sky was full of stars.



The little man did not shout nor sing for all his infinite

gladness. He stood for a time like one awe-stricken, and then,

with a queer small cry and holding out his arms, he ran out as if

he would embrace at once the whole warm round immensity of the

world. He did not follow the neat set paths that cut the garden

squarely, but thrust across the beds and through the wet, tall,

scented herbs, through the night stock and the nicotine and the

clusters of phantom white mallow flowers and through the thickets

of southern-wood and lavender, and knee-deep across a wide space of

mignonette. He came to the great hedge and he thrust his way

through it, and though the thorns of the brambles scored him deeply

and tore threads from his wonderful suit, and though burs and

goosegrass and havers caught and clung to him, he did not care. He

did not care, for he knew it was all part of the wearing for which

he had longed. "I am glad I put on my suit," he said; "I am glad

I wore my suit."



Beyond the hedge he came to the duck-pond, or at least to what

was the duck-pond by day. But by night it was a great bowl of

silver moonshine all noisy with singing frogs, of wonderful silver

moonshine twisted and clotted with strange patternings, and the

little man ran down into its waters between the thin black rushes,

knee-deep and waist-deep and to his shoulders, smiting the water to

black and shining wavelets with either hand, swaying and shivering

wavelets, amid which the stars were netted in the tangled

reflections of the brooding trees upon the bank. He waded until he

swam, and so he crossed the pond and came out upon the other side,

trailing, as it seemed to him, not duckweed, but very silver in

long, clinging, dripping masses. And up he went through the

transfigured tangles of the willow-herb and the uncut seeding grass

of the farther bank. And so he came glad and breathless into the

highroad. "I am glad," he said, "beyond measure, that I had

clothes that fitted this occasion."



The highroad ran straight as an arrow flies, straight into the

deep blue pit of sky beneath the moon, a white and shining road

between the singing nightingales, and along it he went, running now

and leaping, and now walking and rejoicing, in the clothes his

mother had made for him with tireless, loving hands. The road was

deep in dust, but that for him was only soft whiteness, and as he

went a great dim moth came fluttering round his wet and shimmering

and hastening figure. At first he did not heed the moth, and then

he waved his hands at it and made a sort of dance with it as it

circled round his head. "Soft moth!" he cried, "dear moth! And

wonderful night, wonderful night of the world! Do you think my

clothes are beautiful, dear moth? As beautiful as your scales and

all this silver vesture of the earth and sky?"



And the moth circled closer and closer until at last its

velvet wings just brushed his lips . . . . .



And next morning they found him dead with his neck broken in

the bottom of the stone pit, with his beautiful clothes a little

bloody and foul and stained with the duckweed from the pond. But

his face was a face of such happiness that, had you seen it, you

would have understood indeed how that he had died happy, never

knowing the cool and streaming silver for the duckweed in the pond.



COMMENTS

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A gothic romance

09:03 Jan 27 2009
Times Read: 619






Photobucket



Evening minuetto in a castle by the sea

A jewel more radiant than the moon

Lowered Her mask to me

The sublimest creature the Gods, full of fire

Would marvel at making their Queen

Infusing the air with Her fragrant desire

And my heart reeled with grave poetry....



From grace I fell in love with Her

Scent and feline lure

And jade woodland eyes that ushered in the impurest

'Erotic, laden fantasies amid this warm Autumn night

She lulled me away from the rich masquerade

And together we clung in the bloodletting moonlight'

Pearled luna, what spell didst thou cast on me?

Her icy kiss fervoured my neck

Like whispering waves 'pon Acheron's beach

In a whirl of sweet voices and statues

That phantomed the dying trees

This debauched seductress in black, took me....



In a pale azured dawn like Ligeia reborn

I tore free of my sleep - sepulchre

On the sea misted lawn where stone figures, forlorn

Lamented the spectre of Her

Bewildered and weak, yet with passion replete

I hungered for past overtures

The curse of unrest and her ardent caress

Came much more than my soul could endure....



I, at once endeavoured to see Her again

Stirring from midnight's inertia

Knowing not even her name

On a thin precipice over carnal abyss

I danced like a blind acolyte

Drunk on red wine, her dead lips on mine

Suffused with the perfume of night



For hours I scoured the surrounding grounds

In vain that we might meet

When storm clouds broke, ashened, fatigued

I sought refuge in a cemeterty



Sleep, usher dreams

Taint to nightmares from a sunless nether



Mistress of the dark

I now know what thou art



Screams haunt my sleep

Dragged from nightmares thou hast wed together



Lamia and Lemures

Spawned thee leche

To snare my flesh



Portrait of the Dead Countess



Deep stained pain that I had dreamt

Flaunted demise, life's punishment

Leaving little strength to seal this wretched tomb....



But poised nectar within my stirs

Up feverous desire and morbid purpose to search

Through cobwebbed drapery to where she swoons

Goddess of the graveyard, of the tempest and moon

In flawless fatal beauty her very visage compels

Glimpses of a heaven where ghost companies fell

To mourning the loss of god in blackest velvet

Enrobed in their downfall like a swift silhouette



'Fleeting, enshadowed

Thou art privy to my sin

Secrets dead, wouldst thou inflict

The cruel daylights upon my skin?

Dost thou not want to worship me

With crimson sacrifice

So my cunt may twitch against thy kiss

And weep with new-found life?'



Red roses for the Devil's whore....



Dark angels taste my tears

And whisper haunting requiems

Softly to mine ear

Need-fires have lured abominations here....



Nocturnal pulse

My veins spill forth their waters

Rent by lips I cherish most



Awash on her perfidious shores

Where drowning umbra o'er the stars

Ebon's graves where lovers whore

Like seraphim and Nahemah



'Nahemah'



Pluck out mine eyes, hasten, attest

Blind reason against thee, Enchantress

For I must know, art thou not death?

My heart echoes bloodless and incensed....



Doth temptation prowl night in vulvic revelry

Did not the Queen of Heaven come as Devil to me?

On that fatal Hallow's Eve when we fled company

As the music swept around us in the crisp, fated leaves

Under horned Diana where her bloodline was sewn

In a graveyard of Angels rent in cool marbled stone

I am grieving the loss of life in sombre velvet

Enrobed in Death's shadow like a swifter

silhouette....

COMMENTS

-



wayne
wayne
05:45 Mar 13 2009

awsome stories you are a very good writer








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