Journals of a Psychopath

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Hello to cruelty, sex, and violence


The Purifiers and the Archangel

The dyke regarded me when I arrived and her scared sight-orbs encouraged. Dressing in the robe, some silver stars sparkled, the rest were veiled with her crimson-solution. The snow was drenched with the gore and macabre. Rubbing her body, the blood covered my hands. Smearing the red-fluid on my face, I yowled, I reveled in the stickiness. Crackling, as I lit it, the wood smoked, the flares highlighted the Woodlanders and the Darkest-One. The Trees and the Archangel seemed appeased. Appropriating justification, the ruby-fluid extremely powerful, running in the river it contaminated the water, Joy streamed in my body the gore authenticated my dramatized state.

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