Journals of a Psychopath

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Insanity played out in my novel

The Lady Flarice's Work

My competency was supreme, I climbed the huge branch of the enormous old tree, and I clasped the lager in my hand. My sight-orbs zoomed onto her womanhood. A problem had come up I watched, the skin attached to her eyebrows puckered. The Lady Flarice worked until she solved the riddle. Closing my vision-orbs, drifting into sleep, I dreamed regarding the scattered seeds in the fertile heart of the Lady Flarice. She would not evade the plans I had made.
“Why do you torment yourself?” The Orator asked.
“I must think of the things to come.”

The Lady Flarice’s Home

A gale buffeted the icy-shapes, the snow settled, flew from my clothes. Discharging the rays briefly, the golden-orb of the sun played hide and seek, in and out of the foliage. She showed up and the Lady Flarice a view to suspend a task. Dashing inside, she rushed to the liquor, poured a glass, gulping it down, Lady Flarice was desperate for another, I could tell. It seemed as if she was dependent. Racing into her yard, the Lady Flarice lifted the glass and I studied her. Shivering, she was cold the desire to warm her became strong. Entering her house, she decanted another drink.

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