Clarkson my psychopath has something special, and women fall at his feet.
A Recurring Dream
A castle loomed in front and Lady Flarice was inside. Mounting my steed, the hinged bridge began to crank, Hightower my charger was fearful. I forced him onward and we rode the drawbridge speedily. The portcullis was halfway down, I reassured Hightower. He leapt and soared magically in the air, descended into the courtyard. Scattering the crowd shouted. A Knight owning respect scolded the melee, the group mustered. The throng perused Hightower and I, my splendor was noted by the Ladies of the castle. I flaunted my silver-blond mane the Ladies sighed. From the archway, a Knight rode into the square, the crowd became undulant the medieval soldier notorious. Under the armor, his body-exhibited layers of tissue formed into strong tendons. His face chiselled, solid bone-structure sculptured his features.
“Who are you?” He asked brusquely.
“I am Sir Clarkson and I have orders to rescue the Lady Flarice for my Master.”
“The Lady Flarice is mine, I am Sir Richard Falconbridge, and she belongs to me.”
“She is his Sir.”
“Where is this Knight? My aim is to search him out and joust to the end,” he said.
Raising the corners of her mouth, then she yawned. I moved to exit and she tried to postpone my departure.
“I am going to the workshop.”
“Why do we only have snatched moments? You could visit at night, or do you fritter time on her?”
“My leisure time is not allocated to Rhea.”
“I love you Clarkson.”
“Rhea adores me and gives all the attention I need.”
“Why do you bother with me?”
“Because you rile Rhea so much she drinks more.”
Maintaining the struggle for power, Rheanna and Jayne were jealous, it was a win situation and I thwarted Jayne’s efforts to engage me fully.