Ave Dementia

Omnibus in foro S.P.D.

I bring you fresh words from the garden.  Enjoy!

 

Ave Dementia 07/06/2016

Ave Dementia!

I  greet thee,

Most beloved,

With sister rage,

and brother sorrow,

We call to thee,

Come join us in tragedy’s  revelry,

with the festival that never ends,

Tis a gathering of souls,

The Lost,

The Forgotten,

The Broken,

The Damned,

Miscreants gather at the sound of the broken horn,

Come join us,

As we  dance under the shadows,

Our circle stands strong,

As we gleam under the pale  beams of the silvery moon,

The song has been sung,

Do you not hear the music of the nightingales?

Ave Dementia!

We call to thee,

Harken us!

Join us and become one  of the damned beloved.

©2016 T.B. Morte

 

 

 

 

On the Eighth Day

On the Eighth Day 05/10/2016

On the eighth day she was given oblivion,

it was a solution to all the madness,

it was said it would take away all the pain,

On the seventh day she was given heartbreak,

she knew the way that knife could cut,

seductively and with precision along her skin,

On the sixth day she was given indecision,

the roads so twisted where one nightmare ended,

another nightmare began,

On the fifth day she was given temptation,

a beguiling gift of extravagant grandeur,

sweet was temptation but left her bitter,

On the fourth day she was given illusion,

the power to make everything beautiful,

hiding the marred with optical glamors,

On the third day she was given love eternally,

a gift she knew would not remain immortal,

Loved she did eternally  both a blessing and curse,

On the second day she was given Chaos,

A friend in discord was a friend indeed,

chaos and discord made great bedfellows,

On the first day she was given the knife,

the knife she kept close to her heart,

the knife to find her oblivion.

©2016 T.B. Morte

 

 

 

Deliverance (A Prequel Story)

Greetings:

This was a prequel story of “Human Skin” documenting the day of Krysanthe Starflower’s (the main Protagonist) of the novel “Human Skin” birth.  This is the POV from Krysanthe’s father, Lord Caesarion Starflower.  Later on will post that of her mother.

 

Pax,

Tragedienne

Deliverance 08/11/2013-08/18/2013

There was an eerie silence outside the maternity ward. Caesarion Starflower thought that seemed rather strange, although today seemed very different in general.  He could not describe why this day was different; it  simply was.  No sound of newborns crying, or   whispering of the  Medicus and their assistants talking to each other. No voices of excited parents or their families, no sounds of screaming mothers in the throes of labor pains.

There were no sounds at all, not since hours earlier, when one  woman wailed in deep misery: Caesarion’s own wife.

 

This was not Caesarion’s first trip to the delivery room, but he did entertain a small hope it would be his last.  In the hours previously, his wife had given birth to the couple’s fifth child. Even that, in the opinion of some, would be considered too many progeny.   “Three trips to the delivery room leading to five children, including a set of triplets, seemed like quite enough for anyone, particularly the Keeper of the Realm.”

 

But who was to tell the newly-appointed Keeper of the Northern Realm that he could not have as many offspring as he wanted?  The mantle had been passed on by his father, the now retired Lord Alexander, the second Keeper of the Realm . Caesarion was the third to hold the title  along with all the responsibilities that came with it.  To earn the title, Caesarion had fought countless battles as one of the Fianna, won the war against the Swan-kin, and provided the Starflower family with not only one son but  three.

 

Caesarion would rather have been in meetings with dignitaries or planning a battle with the  Fianna  than be stuck in the delivery room for the birth of yet another child. But still he was here. He had been in attendance for the birth of every one of his children, and this fifth child would be no exception. Never mind that there was already talk of child looking ”different,” that she had been born without the traditional Starflower family traits. There would be talk of the questioning of the child’s fey-kin heritage, which would of course be squashed.

 

Staring into the  window of the nursery, he could see his newest babe.  She was swaddled in pink blankets identifying her gender.  Solemnly she slept without the aid of a pacifier. In Caesarion’s experience, that was a rare ability.  His four other children required one immediately after being parted from their mother after being born.  Caesarion could see the child’s barely-there wisps of blonde hair. It was not the traditional ice-blonde locks the Starflowers were known for.  As if the baby could tell she was being looked upon, slowly she opened her sapphire-colored eyes.

 

Sapphire eyes.  His wife’s eyes.  With this child, Lady Melusina’s genes were very strong, which could be damning depending on who  was speaking.   A million thoughts ran inside Caesarion’s head all at once.

 

Suddenly Caesarion heard a familiar voice behind him, echoing his unspoken thoughts .

 

“How many trips to the maternity ward are you and Melusina going to be making, brother?” Lord Augustus asked.

 

“I thought with the triplets it was going to stop,” Caesarion said with a dry chuckle.

 

“Think of it as celebrating your newest appointment. Keeper of the Realm,” Lord Augustus responded with the same dry humor.

 

“Then we are both celebrating it, Prime Commander,”  Caesarion acknowledged with a smile.   Augustus Starflower was Caesarion’s younger and only brother.  He had been  appointed Prime Commander by their father of the entire Northern Realm’s army. Keeping track and control over an entire  army was no small feat.

 

“Your newest  pixie is beautiful. She looks like a replica of Melusina.  She will grow up to be a great beauty,” Augustus  remarked.

 

“Yes, I know.” Caesarion answered  quickly.

 

“Although I notice the obvious lack of platinum blonde in those wisps of hair, my brother.  And those eyes are not the Starflower turquoise…”

 

“Melusina says she was born with golden blonde hair, and as she grew older, her hair changed to raven black.” Caesarion cut in.

 

“So this time around, Melusina’s genes are dominant, you think?”

 

“What do you think?  Why have you come here, brother?” Caesarion asked, annoyed.

 

“Why, to see my newest niece, of course! Besides, little Meridia here wanted to see her new cousin as well.” Augustus pointed down to the child next to him.

 

Caesarion looked down, almost embarrassed.  He hadn’t even notice that his brother had brought his only child.  Three-year-old Meridia Starflower looked up at Caesarion with her beautiful turquoise eyes.  Her elvish ears had were sticking out, her hair placed behind them.  The ears marked her as a true Feykin child. She looked strikingly similar to Caesarion’s four other children.

 

“Hello Tatü,” Meridia said, smiling.

 

“Why hello, Meridia. I did not see you there,”  Caesarion said plainly.

 

Augustus lifted his little daughter into his arms so that she could get a better view of the newborn behind the glass.

 

“What do you think of your new cousin?” Augustus asked his daughter.

 

“She looks different,”  Meridia said, squinting.

 

Caesarion was suddenly not looking forward to the responses his four other children were going to give him when they would be finally brought in to see their newest sibling.

 

Augustus was determined to acknowledge what his brother Caesarion refused to say out loud.  “Melusina’s genes were examined quite heavily before your marriage.  That recessive gene of the  Stormholme family is nearly non-existent, but that does not mean it cannot re-appear,” Augustus began.

 

“I am aware, brother.  And I will tell you and whoever else may decide to think of such a thing.

 

My daughter is not a human-kin. No child of mine is a human,” Caesarion, Keeper of the Northern Realm, declared.

 

©2013 Tragedienne Belle Morte

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

N

Darkness Loves Monster

Darkness Loves Monster  02/14/2016

“I shall give you a name.”  Darkness said as he looked at his most adored.

“But I already have one.”

She looked at her beloved liege wondering why suddenly he wanted to give her a “name”.   When she already had a name that was barely used, surely there was intention behind such a command.

 

“The mortal women who dwell above have names.”

 

“And we live in the shadows not within the mortal realm my beloved.”

 

“A name can give one power.”  Darkness replied firmly.

 

“My name is Monster.  That is my name.  I have the powers of darkness and of the storms. Mortal women quake and run in my presence. ” She spoke with sudden fierceness not wanting to be bothered with such trivial things such as a new name.

 
“A monster is to be considered a thing of ugliness and to be feared.  But you are neither to me.  Your beauty shines brighter than stars themselves and I do not fear you.  Never will the Darkness fear what he loves the most.”

 

“The Darkness loves his Monster.”

“Always.” As Darkness looked at her his icy expression changing to a sign of rare warmth.

“I will give you what the Lord of Light could never give you.”

At the mentioning of the Light who had never loved Monster a pang struck to her very core. She left Monster to go be with the Light, she believed the King of Illusion had loved her.  Tricked her into thinking she belonged in the mortal world.  When in truth she never did and never will.  She had hurt Darkness so deeply when she had fled.  Yet Darkness took her back but never did he forget.

“And whats that my beloved?”

“A name. Because unlike the Light.  I love thee Eternally.”

And so Darkness called his monster by the name of love.

 

©2016 T.B. Morte  “From the Book of Monster” 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Death Of A Star

Death Of A Star 02/07/2016

You said once that you looked upon me like a star,

bright and luminous,

a supernova of cosmic wonder,

 

Over the passages of time,

when arguments and calamity,

replaced our passion,

 

You no longer saw a star,

you saw a broken visage,

battle weary,

bruised by tears and arguments,

stitched back together over and over,

 

Unable to fix the heartache,

You left your star behind,

To suffer a death so powerful,

More everlasting than the star’s life.

 

©2016 T.B. Morte

From the Collection “Spellbound Diavolina Morbidia”

 

 

Bullet-Kissed Lovesong

Omnibus in foro S.P.D.

My spooky folks.   A writing challenge that I accepted featuring a quote that was posted by Donte Collins (via quote that).  All credit of quote goes to original writer.

 

 

Bullet- Kissed Lovesong 01/24/2016

Kissed the bullets simply because  I loved the person who was holding the gun.

When he had hit me it always felt like a kiss.  That was the way we had our true bliss.

Our love story composed of bruises and fists both claiming the title of nihilist.

 

Chainsaw masochist and Lipstick sadist such a lovely couple.  Spent most of our time between each others legs. I only felt something when he was on top of me and vice versa.  The only time while we as lovers felt alive. Sex that was wild and electrifying. While he pounded me we made the earth move.

 

I kissed the bullets because I love the person holding the gun.  I am the Bonnie to his Clyde. Two fucked up people in a fucked up world.  We have nothing but each other.

So of course I kissed the bullets because it was my baby’s gun.

 

©2016 T.B. Morte writing as “Bobbie Jane Claibourne”

From the Collection “Spellbound Morbidia Diavolina”

 

 

 

 

It’s A Gloom Thing

Omnibus in foro S.P.D.

A small fan fic inspired by a friend.  Enjoy!

Pax,

BoneMama Belle

 

It’s A Gloom Thing  1/18/2016

Another year had gone by,

and we heard the call,

The Count gathered the deranged and the undead,

For the Monster’s Ball,

 

When the party opened,

Banshees sang,

The sounds of zombie’s running,

Was lovely indeed,

if you’re into pandemonium,

 

The werewolf was in the swamps,

Digging for bones,

The Mummy was in the mausoleum,

Dancing with some vixens,

 

And where was Frankenstein,

with old King Drake,

On the dance floor,

with every available female ghoul,

ignoring the mates that made them

famous,

 

There she was in her own corner,

Eyes demonic and unwaivering,

curves that flowed unending,

Skin pale as death itself,

freshly dead,

sleek and so unique,

 

Oscillated to where she stood,

not by choice,

As if some unspoken command,

struck my bolts core,

It was not just the Count,

who had the powers of hypnotism,

 

And so there I was on my knees,

as she bade to me rise,

Whilst she spoke the words,

“A lamenting bride knows a tormented bride”,

Dracula and Frankenstein closer than before,

As we kissed under the dim strobelight,

and later the dungeons,

We’re a thing,

Of the death, love, and gore,

A gloom thing.

 

The Collection “Spellbound Diavolina Morbidia”

©2016 T.B. Morte (Tragedienne Belleen Morte)

 

 

 

 

 

Untitled #346 (When Monster Left)

Untitled #346 (When Monster Left)

Untitled #346 (When Monster Left)

Darkness.

It was there, as it had always been,

Faithful, loyal, always welcoming with open arms,

Always forgiving,

No matter how many times the monster left,

In search of something better,

She always believed there was something in rays of light,

its shimmer so deceptive,

A snake so lovely,

a million prisms of color,

united in a specter of beauty,

She wanted it,

She craved it,

It noticed her,

Hiding,

The light had found a new pawn,

And as Monster entered its welcoming maze,

how darkness grieved,

How it died over and over by Monster’s hand,

Done willingly,

Foolishly,

In hopes of something greater,

In the end,

The light could never love the monster,

when there was the princess in the tower,

waiting for her shining light of glory,

The monster was wild and always in fury,

When the monster was finally made broken,

her heart removed from her body by own volition,

she crawled back to the darkness,

in true sorrow,

she was forgiven,

but reminded that she had loved the light more than the light would ever love her,

This torment she must live with,

for even darkness had its moments of cruelty.

©2015 T.B. Morte from the collection “Spellbound Diavolina Morbidia”

Harley’s Passionate Crime (***New HarleyQuinn Fan Fiction***

Omnibus in foro S.P.D.

I understand this some pretty bold writing done here.  However its been ten months since my last Fan Fiction.  I hope all my readers enjoy the story.

Pax,

Bone Mama Belle (Harleygrimm)

Disclaimer: I own nothing and no one. All characters, places, etc, in here are not mine and I don’t profit. All that’s mine is the plot of this particular  story.

Harley’s Passionate Crime 10/08/2015

“There are no happy endings. There are only happy deaths.”  The HarleyQuinn squealed.

This left Commissioner Gordon and notable famed psychiatrist Dr. Leland to sit in unhindered silence, as they along with several criminal detectives tried to take on a impossible task.  They were set with the task of obtaining the confession of Dr. Harleen Frances Quinzel.  The confession itself was of special importance for she had committed no ordinary crime.  The murder of the century committed right in the dark deep depths of Gotham City.

The death of the villainous, psychopathic, immoral, the Clown Prince once known as “The Joker”.  Murdered by the hands of his number one henchmen, well henchwoman, his long time love, and clown doll the equally evil HarleyQuinn.  It was something that could not be fathomed. For anyone that followed the history of Dr. Quinzel her “Love” for the Joker or rather obsession was famous. The Joker dead by his HarleyQuinn?  The unbelievable just became the conceivable. Somewhere Batman and Robin were cheering.

The Commissioner decided it was best to let the Doctor ask the probing questions.  For out of everyone who had gathered to bear witness, it was the Doctor who knew her best.  As the Doctor seemed nonchalant as to what had to taken place.  Displaying some nerves of steel yes it was the right decision to let the Doctor take the reigns. Its what the Commissioner liked about Joan Leland, she pulled no punches like ever.

“So why did you kill him Harleen?”

For a brief span of time of what seemed forever there was a moment of uncomfortable silence.  Harley’s blood-shot eyes cast a deadly glare at the stone-like face of the Doctor. When Harley displayed that she would  not budge in giving information. Surprisingly Dr. Leland took a very deep sigh as she looked at her on and off again patient.

“Why did you kill him Harley?” Dr. Leland asked with genuine interest.

“Because I was an option.  Not a priority.” Harley finally answered.

When the HarleyQuinn made the phone call to the police.  It was dismissed as a silly prank call.  Just Harley and her usual bag o’ tricks.  No one had bothered to believe her. When she arrived completely disheveled and covered in blood. A mixed feeling of mayhaps someone had gotten hurt but certainly not The Joker.  As they now took her confession even now the struggle  to accept it seemed unreal.

That’s when they summoned the “Madam of Arkham” one Dr. Joan Leland.  The psychiatrist and former colleague of the beautiful girl once known as Harleen Quinzel.  It was only she who had been able to calm Harley’s screaming, soothed her rage, to tame the storm at least enough to extract this most priceless confession.

Dr. Leland still the grave face who did superbly at showing no emotion.  Began making her own notes as Harley rambled.  Rantings, ravings, she tore at her hair, at her face, and then finally she calmed down again.  It was as if Harley did not realize just exactly where she was and snapped back into reality. The Commissioner and the others began to shift and lean closer like panting dogs being handed a delicious bone. Dr. Leland gave a cautious glance to the Commissioner if only she could say what she really was thinking.

“Surely there is more to it than that Harley.”  Dr. Leland said carefully.

“Of course there is more to it Doc.  Bottom line is I got fed up.  Tired of always being number two.”

“Funny it always seemed you were his number one.”  The Commissioner said only to himself.

“Nothing I ever did made him happy.  Because we couldn’t kill Batman, never enough crimes getting committed.  Too much time getting locked up in Arkham.  There was something always wrong.  Only time I pleased him is when I fucked him.  And nobody can fuck the Joker like I can.” Harley broke into tears.

She spoke of him as if he were still alive.  Did she even realize that she killed him?  And just because HarleyQuinn had started crying giving the angle of the “Scorned Woman”.  Did not mean all that could be forgiven.  No matter how heinous The Joker was, he was still a citizen of Gotham, and justice had to be sought the cruelest of ironies. Nor did Dr. Leland give up the inquisition.

“Why didn’t you just leave him Harley?  If you were truly that unhappy?”

“Because I tried to leave him Doc.  Which you know about.  Remember all those times I spent on your couch? When you drugged me up to get me to kiss and tell?  Surely you remember.  I certainly do.  I left him over and over, yet I always came back though.  Because I loved him, don’t you see that?  I loved my Puddin I really did.    But if you love something Doc you set them free.”  HarleyQuinn continued to bawl.

“Yes. You murder them.”  Commissioner Gordon mumbled.

Feral as she is Harley’s head snapped up and shot the Commissioner a scathing look.  Which caused everyone to look at him. Even the rookie detectives looked taken aback.  As if he had done the crime instead of the crying woman sitting in the interrogation room.

“Don’t you judge me Commish, I see you over there!” Harley spat.

“You see me but what can you do?  You are surrounded by officers.  You can try but you won’t get very far except dead just like The Joker. I do not judge you Harley, that will be left up to the judge and jury made up of the good citizens of Gotham. The very people you victimize and harm on a daily basis.  Think about it Miss. Quinzel they are now getting a chance to judge you.”

Wide eyed and even Harley’s bottom lip quivered. As she whined loudly. “Judge? Jury?”

“Of your own peers and no not those peers.  Not the ones you are thinking of.”  Commissioner Gordon pointed out.

Although having the Joker’s Harley face a group of her peers.  Would be something interesting to see- Poison Ivy would vote for her to be spared.  The Commissioner  felt the others would be a bag of mixed nuts.  The Joker and HarleyQuinn had pissed off many of their fellow criminals..

Yet still he had to wonder the catalyst the death of The Joker would bring. He had been Gotham’s biggest problem.  Would the other insane criminals simply back off? A reduction in crime? Would suddenly Gotham’s finest be out of a job soon? No need for a Batman? These were questions that burned in the mind of the Commissioner Gordon, for what HarleyQuinn did brought consequences not just to her but for many others as well. Suddenly the demise of The Joker seemed not so good.  In the end what if HarleyQuinn may not have done the city of Gotham a favor by doing what others could not?

While HarleyQuinn screamed in emotional distress.  Dr. Leland gave the signal that this interrogation session had now come to an end.  It was clearly obvious that HarleyQuinn may not be able to continue on.  She had given enough to damn herself during the process.  It finally registered to her what she had truly done.  She murdered the one and only love of her life.  Could you call what she did an “Act of Passion”?  Whatever pushed her over the edge the world may never know save only The Joker himself.  You just never knew with HarleyQuinn she was just that insane.

The Commissioner felt a pang of sympathy for the mad Doctor.  Harleen Frances Quinzel just booked herself a one-way ticket to the Insane Asylum for the Criminally Insane known as “Arkham”.  Where she would mourn her “Puddin” for the rest of her days locked away in a padded room.

The death of The Joker, the death of a criminal era.

~~Finis~~

©2015 T.B. Morte

The Story of Darkness: (Vol. III of “The Seven”) “Why Darkness Wept”

Omnibus in foro S.P.D.

Another bone for the garden.

Pax,

Belleen

The  Story of Darkness: (Vol. III of “The Seven”) “Why Darkness Wept”

The crowd of mourners sang the lines to the song “Amazing Grace” as if they were in true mourning.  Almost and just almost as if they knew the true meaning of grief.  These poor unfortunate souls knew nothing about grieving.  They knew nothing what its like to face loss over and over again.  Over a lifetime, over centuries, over a entire millennia.

She watched as the coffin was being lowered to the dark hole of the ground.  Six feet below to be exact.  This was not the first time she attended a funeral nor would it be her last most likely.  As the tears streamed down her face.  She could not help but weep. No one within the crowd of people bothered to comfort her- not even ask if she was okay.  It was as if she was not there.  While the Priest gave the final sacraments  giving safe passage for the body in the coffin.  To make its final voyage into the next world.

“Ashes to Ashes, Dust to dust.”  The Priest chanted.

She squeezed her eyes tightly as the tears kept going. She knew this would be over very very soon.  For funerals are never prolonged.  Its a short service, body gets buried, and people are supposed to move on with their lives.  You are not supposed to be remember the dead.

Today she buried her very last human descendant.  Her very last great-grandchild  so many times removed she did not bother to count.  It did not matter to her. They were a part of her bloodline. The blood of her blood, sprung forth from her set of children. As time stretched over the span of years, she watched over them, loved and protected even from afar.  She did the best that she could and yet it was not enough for she could not stop the inevitable.  No matter how in the early years she would beg.  She could not stop death even if she were a daughter of “Immortality”.  Death the cruel hearted thing it was stopped for no one.

And so now she grieved openly with no remorse.  She was the only one of seven sisters to gain the blessing to bear children.  Only to lose them to the hands of death.  It was a blessing and a curse.  Her wish was granted at a high price.  No sacrifice to small she had foolishly thought in her misspent youth.  If only she could turn back the passages of time and chose to remain childless.

The circumstances surrounding the death of her descendant were circumspect. He had been murdered most viciously.  Which to her dug the wound even more deep.  His life had not been claimed by old age with a life truly fulfilled. He was still young just barely a grown man.  He never got the chance to start a family or strive for a career.  He would never get the opportunity to fall in love or suffer heartache.  Everything had been taken away from her grandson too early by someone else. That someone was going to truly pay they would never know misery until now that is all that individual will ever know.

The crowd had finally dwindled to where only one had remained at the grave site.  He was tall, dark, smokey eyed, would have been handsome in normal circumstances. He carried the demeanor of one who spent time in the shadows.  She knew all about the shadows.  Its rumored she created them after all.  He stared at her with a look of fascination.

“You look just like him.” Said the man in the shadows.

“We were related.”

“His sister perhaps?”  As he edged closer.

“If you would like to think so.”

“You must be.  You look too much alike.  Do you have a name dear woman?”

“I am Darkness.” She said silently.

“Elakhet.  My name is Elakhet.”

“An usual name for unusual beauty.”

Darkness did not like where this was heading.  She decided to do something she very rarely did.  She used just a vein of power.  Just a small tap to reach into the psyche of the stranger.  His memories flooded into her like a tidal wave almost causing her to lose balance.  Through the images she saw what she dreaded.  The stranger killing her grandchild. This set a wave of anger through her which could not unquelled.  She would have her vengeance and she would have it now.

“It is also unusual for the killer to attend the funeral of his victim.”

If looks could kill then Darkness would truly be struck dead. The stranger turned angrily towards her.  Darkness boldly gave him a playful smirk. She was not afraid of him, for she had seen bigger and badder enemies.

“Had to make sure he was laid to rest.  You know what they say Dead men tell no tales.  And like your brother you know too much. Pity because you’re such a pretty little thing.” The stranger growled as he approached closer.

“Pity because I would hate to see you die. Actually scratch that. I am rather looking forward to it.” Darkness purred back.

What the stranger did not realize that there was three women standing behind him. The sisters of darkness all clad in black.The twins Vanity & Envy who blew Darkness kisses. The oldest sister who Darkness most adored.  Her oldest sibling looked at Darkness solemnly.  Envy in a playful gesture blew in the ear of the stranger causing him to turn around his eyes grew wide in curiousity.

“Peekaboo.” Envy squealed.

Vanity, Envy, and along with the oldest formed a circle around the man who had no name. Circling him like a pack of hungry wolves.  Darkness knew what was to come.  She held no regrets save the fact that she could not dish out justice herself.  For her oldest sister would never allow her to interfere most unfortunately.

“My beloved Torment.” Darkness said in a husky tone.

“My sweet Darkness.”  Torment responded in a softer voice as she continued talking to Darkness directly.

“Forever the grieving Mother my sister.”

“Am I any other way my sister?” Bitterly Darkness asked.

“No you are not. Yet I will still ask how can I salve your heart?”

“I have no heart.”

“Sister let us make it better.” Vanity cooed.

Torment reached with a gloved hand to caress the strangers face. As she cocked her head towards Darkness “His life then?”

“Aye.  His life.”

“You have never asked me of this before.”

Darkness looked at Torment and a smile passed between the two sisters.  They had always been close as children and even over the eons of time their bond had never severed.

“Sister will you avenge me?” Darkness pleaded.

The stranger who had unusually taken a nonchalant stance regarding his soon to be fate. Looked at the four women quite bemused.  “As if you have what it takes to kill me.”  He mocked.

Vanity, Envy, and Torment removed matching Desert Eagles equipped with silencers from their trench coats. The death sisters carried guns that assassins used which in truth was no surprise.  The stranger now very wide eyed tried to take a step back waving his hands frantically.

“I’m not fond of guns on principle.  But they get the job done when it is necessary.” Spoke  Torment as she lifted her gun to meet her target. She motioned the Twins to ready themselves as well.

The stranger decided to foolishly try and outrun the wave of bullets.

“Rest.” Torment began.

“In.” Vanity followed.

“Peace.” Envy finished.

In matching symmetry their guns fired. Bullets hit the back of the strangers head, his heart, and also his stomach. The stranger fell to the ground oddly enough landing on the grave of the grandchild of Darkness.  When it was done Darkness herself approached the body of the stranger to close his now very dead eyes.

“Requiscat in pace.” Darkness spat.

While she turned to join her sisters so they could flee the now crime scene.  Darkness gave a farewell to her last descendant.  She carefully wiped away a crop of fresh tears, while the blood of the stranger flowed into the loams of the earth.

©2015  From “The Seven Interlogues”  by T.B. Morte