Journals of a Psychopath



Poor Taylor.

The Haven

Setting fire to an incense stick, I thrust it in Taylor’s direction.
      “There is an odor and the stink must be eradicated,” I said.
Taylor became stiff. Stroking my robe decorated with the jewels and festooned with silver stars, the coiled wax blocks spat unsteadily, the shadows danced crosswise Taylor's face.
      “Why do you watch her?”
Taylor’s question infringed into my cogitation and the vision was shattered Taylor stopped talking, when she studied my face, it was a wise decision to remain quiet.
      “She is mine and the Lady Flarice is unaware of my dark path.”

The Shrine

Looming above Taylor Smithson grinned. I untied her. She crouched on the frozen dirt, her body rocked from north to south. Displayed on the massive screen, the Lady Flarice was in her kitchen, and she carried out the chores, her silvery-blonde hair attractive in the light. Chanting the song of worship, the response from the Trees and the Darkest-One nonexistent, and the strain to enthrall was maximized. Charging compliance, the Trees and the Archangel were stern, at that time I conformed. Smithson was displeased when I napped and he began to sing, I woke up.
Sniveling quietly, Taylor scrutinized Smithson. He delved into the box that was developed for the paraphernalia.
      “These are for you.”
Jingling the chains it amused him, I fettered her I allowed him to lock the padlocks. Taylor's resolve dissolved she knew she was a sacrifice in waiting. Smithson surveyed her spitefully and I was delighted with Smithson my son and heir.

The Family Farm

Jessie came onto me and she was suggestive Rhea gawped.
       “Is she attractive enough?”
      “Ah, Jessie she is gorgeous, but I have someone else.”
      “Who is it?”
      “You will find out soon enough.”
Rhea ran to me.
      “You are vile.”
      “It is early morning and mother is tight,” Smithson said.
His grandfather came into the room.
      “Are you drunk?”
      “Yes what of it?”
She discharged another drink.
      “Do you want one?”
      “Yep I guess so,” I replied.
Decanting the vodka into a glass, her hand shook, she was forlorn, the landscape was frozen, but she took no heed, and she checked the top of the table for answers.
Smithson and I sloped to his room, we talked pertaining to Taylor, and Smithson suggested some grand ideas relevant to how to afflict her. Rheanna tapped on the door and then burst into Smithson’s room.
      “Mother you must stop doing that.”
      “Why have you got something to hide?”
Smithson was concerned, but I grumbled, and I pushed Rhea from the door.
      “I know something very sinister is going on,” she said.

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