Journals of a Psychopath.



Clarkson will never let the Lady Flarice go.

The Lady Flarice in the dream

Creating a tent with the canvas I stole from the stronghold, Lady Flarice deemed I was smart. Wrapping some rags around a branch and dipping it in oil, I lit the torch. Clenching it, I emerged from the tent, and I saw the horses were very cold, I swathed them with furs, and I crawled back into the shelter.
      “Are you pleased I took you from Sir Richard?”
     “Of course I am.”
I knew she was lying and the Lady Flarice was a turncoat she had enjoyed his male-organ well-enough. Taking the tent down and we began to move once more, the light from the red-hot stick highlighted her silvery-blonde hair, as we traveled I was captivated with the Lady Flarice’s comeliness. Giving her the burning branch and it illuminated our path the Lady Flarice grasped it tight the flame undulated. The trees did not stir and I wondered why they did not instruct. Trudging onward, my heart pounded, the Lady Flarice beseeched me to stop, and I saw no harm concerning her request. Jumping from the horse, she stalked into the trees I followed.
      “I need to pee and can you not stare whilst I do it?”
Crouching, Lady Flarice pulled the dark-green gown around her body. Watering the snow-capped land, Lady Flarice’s urine was yellow-green, and melted the snow. Some steam was generated. She finished, I pulled her up the moon was out the stream trickled, and indicated our survival. Filling the water bottles and she washed in the rivulet, the luminosity from the flashlight captured Lady Flarice’s figure, and her nipples protruded.
      “We must carry on,” I said.

Seizing her appendages and the Lady Flarice's hands were blue, I massaged her fingers to circulate the blood.
      “You contradict yourself.”
      “What do you mean?”
      “You are kind to me here, yet you harass me in your other world.”
      “It will return to normal when we are in the higher one.” I said.
She gazed, she knew she would never be free. In the temporary shelter, we considered the wind, as it danced in and out of the flap. Thinking I saw a Grizzly skulking in the tree, I was concerned. I collapsed the camp. Peering at her and the Lady Flarice clutched the burning flashlight, she was watchful. Her form was illuminated in the brilliance from the flame. The Lady Flarice’s hair was still unbraided and I marveled at her exquisiteness. Lady Flarice stole glances and our progress was slow. The horses stumbled the forest floor was littered with branches and needles.
      “It is scary,” she said.
The creatures scampered and flew from the blazing red-hot torches.
      “Sir Richard will be sorted out his death is the only answer.”
      “That is extreme maybe something other than demise would be more apt.”
      “Sir Richard has set his brainpower on you and I cannot change that.”
Hightower picked his way through the trees and he was cautious, the dirt was loaded with the snow and ice. Lady Flarice’s flashlight fell to the ground, I jumped from my steed, elevated it before the flame doused, she was grateful.
      “Thank you.”
The torch sputtered and then revived. Her horse was limping and I investigated the hoof it was lame.
      “You will sit behind me.”
      “What about the horse? We cannot leave it.”
      “We must or it will slow us.”
The Lady Flarice told the horse she hoped it would survive when it was plain the horse could not. Bearing the weight without problem, I was satisfied with my steed.
      “Put your arms around me.”
She deposited her arms around my waist, the warmth from the Lady Flarice’s delectable body pleased me, I relished it, and she began to weep.
      “When we return will you stop watching?”
      “No we will be together always.”

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