Journals of a Psychopath



The time is very near for the Lady Flarice.

Blackclaw Woodlands

Lottie screamed as we fettered her to the altar, Lottie’s vision-orbs portrayed terror. Reciting the poetry and Smithson enjoyed it.
I deliberated she was a replacement for Taylor who purloined the purifying.
      “This is not planned,” the Woodlander Warriors and the Archangel hissed.
Smithson collapsed onto his knees.
      “We are repentant,” he said.
Staring the Timber Figures and the Darkest-One stamped their feet and he was petrified.
      “Please forgive my son? He does not know he should not speak to you yet.”
      “Kill her now make it swift and she will not purify you she is not chosen.”
Lottie screeched when Smithson advanced, he lifted the sword she tensed her body and waited for the sword to penetrate, Smithson plunged it into her breast she died immediately.
      “That was a waste of time and the Trees are annoyed with us,” Smithson said.
      “Okay I made a mistake.”
      “Father is that really you admitting you are fallible,” Smithson replied.

The Shrine

Faltering she was terrified, we pushed Lady Flarice from the haven, the snow and icy wind battered us. Contending with the pure white silk rope securing her rigidly and Lady Flarice's sight-disks pierced mine. Scanning the murkiness, the lesser trees sizzled in envy and bowed. Gazing at the circlet it was askew Smithson halted and neatened it.
      “Do not touch her.”
“I was striving to please you.”
Crumpling to the ground exhausted and Lady Flarice’s bridal dress was scrunched.
      “The wedding robe is dirtied,” I said.
Dabbing it with the pure white silk rope dipped in snow and Smithson scrubbed vigorously.
      “Not long now father.”
The Sacrificial Area

     “It is not time,” the Purifiers and the Darkest-One, said.
Shuffling back to the shrine and the thudding of my anger beat to the rage in the Wooden Forms and the Darkest-One’s heart.
      “This is becoming a farce,” Smithson said.
I cuffed him.

The Family Farm

Smithson's vista-orbs were dim. The people drank and spoke low. Cuddling Jayne, she was pleased with the contact, and Rhea gaped with animosity.
      “Clarkson can you come to my room I need you?” Rhea asked.
I was annoyed with her.
      “No I am about to take Jayne to bed.”
Diving upstairs Jayne was exultant, I looked back, and Rhea began to drink more liquor, she wept into the drink, folk puckered their faces in disgust. Jayne was triumphant and she had come ahead of Rhea for the first time, Jayne deliberated her time had come.
       “I knew I would break Rheanna’s hold on you one day.”
      “I must go, but your hour will not be spoiled,” I said.
      “Come back to me quickly.”
Running down the stairs, Rheanna grabbed me when I reached the bottom she hung onto me.
      “Clarkson please do not leave me? Jayne is happy, because you chose her over me.”
Smithson loped into the kitchen, Jessie pursued him, and disentangling from Rhea's grasp, I traipsed into the food preparation area.
      “Get away from Smithson.”
Jessie was irate and she draped her body over the counter Smithson gawped.
      “Are you afraid of some competition? If it is okay for you to take Jayne to bed it is alright for me to make a play for Smithson.”
      “You can sex with who you want, but not him.”
Dawdling to the sink, I pushed Smithson against the cabinet.
      “Do not think about Jessie.”
      “I will obey you father I do not want her.”
Smithson stared into my eyes and I grabbed Smithson, led him from the kitchen. Rhea came to me again and she begged for something she would never receive, I could no longer tolerate her. Jessie inspected us with hurt and she wiped her eyes.
      “Never try to coerce Smithson again,” I said.

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