Journals of a Psychopath

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Once you get into my novel, you will not be able to put it down.

Lady Flarice's work

Lady Flarice was clothed in tight clothes and she smoothed her pants, I insatiably reveled in the allure, her shirt was low-cut.
“You look nice,” Mariel said.
The desire to gain the purification invaded my psyche. Unfortunately for Mariel, her hair was up, I saw Mariel’s ears, and they were acceptable, her hair silvery-blonde.

Blackclaw Woodlands

The Purifiers, the Darkest-One and the Voice exhorted me to go closer. Scuffing, singing the song of the insensate, and the swirls on the mantle embellished it, denoted the purity of the portent.
They accepted my shape as Clarkson the merciless, the Timber Figures and the Archangel hearkened, as I implored, I told the Idols she was unattractive, but the essential fact her ears beautiful.
      “She will be an acceptable sacrifice.”
Mariel was the next surrender, she need not worry pertinent to sexual abuse she was ugly.

 The Homestead

Rheanna decanted vodka, she examined me with ire, and Caldwell viewed me with derision.
      “You will not be a good father,” Caldwell said.
      “Smithson is strong.”
      “What about his morals?”
      “He understands all he needs to know on the subject of principles.”
      “God help us.”
      “God will judge you too.”
      “You are despicable,” Rheanna said.
Smithson scuttled downstairs.
      “What do you think of your father siring another child?” His grandfather asked.
      “It is good I shall have a stepsister.”
Rheanna was saddened and she hoped Smithson would be jealous, I had agonized that he might be envious, but he received the news pertaining to the expected birth of his stepsister well. Jolenson was destined to live a life of torment and squalor my daughter would pay part of the price.

The Shrine

      “I cannot let you down father you included me in your calling and I am honored to serve you.”
Those words from my son and legatee compared to gems, he was my trustworthy son the bond of accord.
      “Mariel is the next sacrifice,” I said.
He wrinkled his nose, Smithson's desire for her was exempt, he did not approve, Clarkson and Smithson the fear conveyers, triumphant in the mission. Chanting the song and Smithson danced, I joined him, leaping in the air and we cavorted. Smithson stopped, and he fell to his knees. He draped one of the Lady Flarice's gowns over his body and I adjusted the raiment. Pivoting and Smithson’s arms uplifted. He was not pleased when I instructed him to take her gown away.

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