The Entreating Chronicles#1 “THE QUIBBLE QUASMS OF BELLE MORTE”

Omnibus in foro S.P.D.

Greetings fellow spooks & ghouls.  Some random short pieces I decided to put together as possible ongoing compilation of “shorties” its a new year.  Time for a new outlook.  Enjoy the following tidbits.  As always feedback appreciated.


Bone Mother Belleen ❤



“Forgiveness. The scale you measure of the hurtful act that was done to be measured against the something that you love. There was a moment of falter, a cut so deep the impenetrable became the penetrated. The emotion of true sorrow felt so fluid embedded into entire psyche. If you love something you must love its evil as well as it’s innocence. To love only one part, one cannot love truly. You must accept the wiles,observe the hurt and measure the scale consciously. Forgiveness and love you must embrace to the bitterest of ends” ~T. B. Morte  © 2017~



“What is black? A color so deep and engulfing it swallows light whole. Born from the shadows, nothing can be seen inside it. So black are the hearts of the fallen the weak are unable to fathom loving them. So dark were the souls of the broken the brave could not help but love them against all odds.”~ T.B. Morte © 2017 ~



“Love your Hero, and love them well. For they have the spirit of giants and the bravery of fools. They will love what they endear so brutally, they will avenge any slight against them at all costs. They will carry you upon a broken back, they will be your shield, they will be your iron cladded will and word. But if you were to mock the love the Hero gives, you have foolisheartedly committed a most heinous act. You have broken their spirit. The hero then can no longer sing with shine, the song is now tainted, darkness slowly encrypted. The fool must now think of the catastrophe they have unleashed. They have morphed the Hero into a Villain.” ~T.B. Morte © 2017~

The Fallen Queen

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A follow-up to my recent alternate Snow -White fairy tale. From the POV of “The Sweet Prince”.  Enjoy ❤ Belleen


The Fallen Queen 09/13/2016

Dark was my heart,

pale was her skin,

she loved me still,

it echoed through me,

Would she love me still,

if she really understood,

that I was more monster than man,

Damned beyond forgiveness,


I am no longer the Prince,

But an aconite of lust,

The vassal of the Queen,

made of flesh and bone,

Her whim is my command,

No matter how perverse,

Its the only world I know,

This cascade of  exquisite darkness,


The Queen was captured,

My beloved made sure of that,

Her wrath swaddled in justice,

As my captor was made to dance in hot irons,

Her cries brought  a silent agony,

Our endgame  destroyed too soon,


She will slowly die,

And I along with her,

My sweet Princess,

Can she feel my secret pain?

Will she love me still,

If she knew the truth,

That I loved the woman,

who is dying in the fire,


The princess whose pale as snow,

Conquered the fallen queen,

But destroyed the heart of  what she claimed to have loved the most,

The Prince  the creature of the Queen.


©2016 T.B. Morte






New Story (By the stars and the moon)

Omnibus in foro S.P.D.

So recently I have rediscovered the greater joys of writing short stories.  We are still determining whether this is a good thing or a bad thing.  This newly scribed piece is a side story that takes place in the universe of my novel “Human Skin”.  This story involves a  side character one Briony Kiersakova.  Who happens to be the concubine of the main Protagonists’ Father.  In the main novel you’ll find Briony a catty and most overbearing individual.  In this piece you will come to find that there is more than meets the eye.

Feedback and comments welcome.


Bone Mama Belle

By the Stars and the Moon 03/28/2014

She had wondered what a star felt like it when finally died. Not that she could fathom the notion, or possibility, that a star could actually die. All that power–just gone in a simple flash, instantly; the eternal brightness being replaced by an empty void. Briony didn’t want to think what it would be like to be without a position of power ever again. She knew what it felt like to be in that void. Nowadays, she and her sister shined like the brightest of stars.

Tonight was the first night of the Noumenalia, festival of the Moon goddess Selene. It was celebration of the story of the Moon goddess Selene, waking up from the world of night to guard the earth, giving her brother the sun god Helios a chance to sleep. Briony had always enjoyed the night-time; she remembered her mother saying that the night was “The time of ladies”. Instead of being out in public and attending the parade, Briony chose to spend time in solitude in the Gardens of Valdryn. The gardens were known for their dark beauty, which not everyone had access to. They belonged to Lord Caesarion Starflower and certain members of his family.

Briony had the privilege of gaining access because of her position as a chief concubine to Lord Starflower, which position she shared with her darling sibling, Zinna–just as they shared nearly everything. They had the same parents, same man, and even the same looks. Taking a break from her normal “shared” routine, Briony was enjoying solitude with just the company of the moon.

Tonight her thoughts traveled outward like a vast web. She thought of her mother who was long dead buried in a grave in the city of Poroven, from whence she and Zinna hailed. Poroven was a city located in the far north of the Northern Realm; a city where there were fewer rich people and more of the poor. Briony also thought of her sister Zinna, whom she had already spent a lifetime taking care of. Sometimes it was an overwhelming task, but at this point Briony could not picture herself doing anything else; for she loved Zinna more than anyone in the world, and her younger sister knew it.

It was the reason why Briony tolerated people mumbling under their breath, calling her “whore”; the reason why she never sought revenge for being sneered at by her fellow Feydred. She wasn’t just a run-of-the-mill concubine who sold her wares to anyone with a piece of shiny coin; she was Mistress to the Keeper of the Realm, the most powerful man in the Northern Realm. So, in turn, she had some power, as did Zinna.

The current job situation was far less messy than her previous job, and less morally compromising. Plus, she was able to protect and provide for the sister she promised to look after.

“I love you too much, my sister,” Briony said out loud to no one but the Moon.

She remembered the night of her Mother’s passing, the city of Poroven having been struck by plague ten years previous. They were too poor and too young to get their Mother proper medicine. Briony remembered how she was beckoned to the deathbed of her parent–cold, hungry, and scared, but dutifully obeying her Mater’s last wish.

“Promise you’ll watch over Zinna always. She’s not as strong as you,” Briony’s mother whispered.

“I promise, Mama,” Briony said as she wept.

“Promise me by what? Promise me by something you love.”

“I promise by the stars and the moon,” Briony promised.

As if snapping out of a dream, Briony felt the tears that were rolling down her face. She carefully wiped them away and looked up at the sky, realizing that she strode too far down memory lane; but Briony was glad that only the moon was able to see her moment of weakness.


©2014 T. B. Morte

Most Newest Poem

Omnibus in foro S.P.D. It would seem the Bone Mamma is trying to make a comeback.  This here is my most newest poem.  Feedback as always appreciated! *smiles*

Spooky Regards,

Bone Mamma Belle

Unbinding 02/03/2014

On this day,

I do unwind,

the ties between you and I,

On this day, ends the journey where it began,

This anniversary of undoing,

On this day, I shall sever,

what brought you and I together,

Setting aflame the ties that bind,

For now and ever,

Several years ago back when,

You were mine,

And I was thine,

Several years later,

I am not who I was back then,

And I see the reflection clearly in the mirror,

Of what was always in front of me,

Your love I could claim never,

On this day by twilight’s dawn,

I undo the promise that was given broken,

For evermore you shall not have to linger,

I cast you away like a stranger,

For now and forever I am no longer thine,

and you are no longer mine.

©2014 Tragedienne Belle Morte

“Lovefool” New Short Story

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Keeping at my word and continuing this “skin-shedding” metamorphoses we find Tragedienne travelling down a foreign lane writing wise.  I normally do not write anything of the “erotic” nature,  if I do it’s every 3-4 years quite literally.  Normally I prefer to  keep such kinky and delectable thoughts and actions off the writing tablet if you know what I mean.   Acknowledging that  most of my writing is  of the “dark” nature,  but you have dark then there is the “Oh snap” dark where you’re blushing 50 shades of red kind of dark.  But this story was just screaming at me practically begging me to write it.   For those that do not know (well you do now)  I am huge fan of Comics and especially that of Harley Quinn.  This story scenario is about Harley Quinn being released from a recent stint in the Arkham Insane Asylum, our favorite clown-doll has decided this time around she is going to lead a “cleaner” life.  However the Joker has a completely different opinion on that matter, this story is given a tad bit of sugar and a lot of spice 😉  Although I tried to keep to the spirit of Harley Quinn’s character and to the fact she was exposed to certain medical treatments in Arkham her mental state is quite shattered one would say.  * **Hoists Disclaimer*** Definitely not one for the kiddies or those with delicate mindsets however  feedback is most certainly appreciated.

P.S.  Yes folks I believe I have just written Fan Fiction officially for the very first time.  *ducks*


Tragedienne (Bone Mamma Belle)

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 the story.

Lovefool 10/13/2013

She felt helpless. She felt confused. She felt scared. She was feeling the whole triple threat of helplessness, confusion, and fear. Not scared for her life, although in her current predicament, she should be. Right now, she was bound and gagged in a chair. Earlier she had been flogged. The pain had been so great that she passed out. Yet strangely she felt safe, as if no real harm would truly come to her. A mere flogging was nothing. She had lived with him all this time. She was used to a little pain.


Besides, she also had her babies, Bud and Lou, although she did not hear their cries. Actually, she couldn’t hear anything. She slowly opened her eyes. As they adjusted, she could see that she was in a dim room. Pictures and newspaper clippings of the pair’s most famous crimes draped the walls. Also, she saw a picture of that pointy-eared dweeb and his brat on the wall, marked fittingly with a Big Red X over their faces.


Their correct names were Batman and Robin. She had to address them properly now. She had been released from Arkham Insane Asylum just two days previously because she had been declared sane once more. Sane people did not want to hurt other people. Only insane people wanted to kill people, or at least that’s what she remembered Dr. Leland saying in one of their many sessions.


She didn’t want to hurt anybody; she just wanted to be normal. Not that she knew what normal was anymore. Hell, she owned two pet hyenas, for crying out loud. But the babies wouldn’t hurt anyone, at least not intentionally. Fresh tears spilled down her clown make-up at the very thought of going back to Arkham.


Never again,” she swore. She was sick of that place. She hated it with every fiber of her being. That place is where she had met him. Upon that meeting, he changed her life with a seduction so dark it was painfully sweet and delicious. Just thinking about it caused her to feel certain sensations between her legs.


She was disappointed to have such feelings. Dr. Leland had said those electro-shock treatments would take away such urges. They were supposed to make her normal, and normal girls didn’t think of kinky sex. Again, fresh tears spilled upon the white of her make-up. Due to the binding of the ropes, she couldn’t even wipe them away. Damn this helplessness.


As if someone responded to her most inner thoughts, she felt a warm hand clasp her shoulder from behind. Just by the sound of the breathing, she knew it was him. She instinctively tried to nuzzle his hand with the side of her face. He shoved her face away with a cruel laugh. He stood before her in a crisp pin-stripe suit, his green hair done in perfection, as was the rest of his make-up. Seeing him brought back a flood of memories, and all she wanted to do was beg forgiveness for whatever transgression she may have done or caused while she was away.



My sweet Harley. My sweet Harley Quinn.”



He said her name so huskily it brought more warmth between her legs. This was a trial for her to prove her sanity. She had to fight him and not succumb to the lust he always brought to her.



You’ve got to fight him, Harley,” she said to herself.



Tell me, Harley, have I done something wrong? You haven’t been yourself since being released from Arkham. I mean, you didn’t report back as instructed. You told one of the Henchmen that you want to live a ‘clean’ life. I had to kidnap you, Harley Quinn. Do you know how much trouble you have caused me?” The Joker asked his former number one henchman.



It had been a very long time since he had spoken to her like this, in such a soft tone. Normally, he was always yelling at her. This soft tone caught her off guard completely. He stepped even closer to her to remove the ball gag he had had one of the henchmen put on her.






I’m sorry.”


“I’m sorry what?”


I’m sorry Mista J,” Harley said with familiarity.


He grabbed her by the platinum blonde pigtails she so loved to wear. His look was fierce and commanding.


That’s much better. You want to live a “clean” life you say? Do you remember the ever-so-squeaky-clean life you were living before I saved you? You were in Arkham, slaving away as a supposed doctor. Remember the pain you were feeling? I saved you from that. I set you free, you ungrateful bitch!”


She looked at him and said nothing, because that’s all she could do. She did not want him to point out her old life when she was “Harleen.” Those were too many memories that carried too much pain. The electro-shock treatments couldn’t even take those away, only bury them far, far deep.


I will not let you go back to that ‘clean’ life you so hope for. You belong here, don’t you understand? Wake up and smell the napalm, girl! It’s time you remember who you really are.”

He pulled out a knife and instead of quickly cutting the ropes, he did so slowly that the knife touched her clothing. Mumbling and cursing the whole time he did it. Even so, he teased her with the knife intermittently, shooting shivers up her spine. After the ropes were finally cut away, he commanded that Harley to stand up. With swift and sudden movements. The Joker kissed her deeply and savagely, biting her lip and smearing her clown make-up. It left her breathless.

Come. I have a surprise for you,” he said. “A reminder, as it were.”

She followed the Joker because in the end, she had no choice and she knew it.  In the next room, there was a red-haired woman tied up and ball-gagged as well. The woman was decked in her signature green. Instantly, Harley knew who it was.  Poison Ivy, her sometimes accomplice and partner-in-crime. It was she who messed up their last job together. Because of her screw-up, it had been Harley who was sent to Arkham. It was Harley who had got sent away to the Asylum, that very scary place, that place of terrifying nightmares. It was all Ivy’s fault in the end, she had gotten away with everything scott-free until now. How clever of the Boss to put two and two together.

The Joker circled his arms around her waist. His hands began to wander, making her gasp in deep pleasure. He placed a whip in her hand. The battle of defeating him was lost before it really began. She said a last goodbye to “normalcy” as she cackled in malicious delight. Poision Ivy’s green eyes stared at Harley in pure fear. She knew what was coming.


As she strutted forward, Harley’s expression changed from her own fear to impish delight as she found herself saying a familiar phrase.


Miss me, Puddin’?”



©2013 T.B. Morte


What I Fear

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Fear is an emotion that I don’t always display but I often feel.  I have this strong tendency to don a *Hero’s* mask.   Because superhero’s feel nothing they make sure their adversaries do however.  Yesterday I got hit with some “Kryptonite” yesterday, it left me feeling rather helpless actually.    What every writer has dancing around in the back of their heads but it’s never really uttered out loud.   Ever thought “If anyone is  really reading your stuff?” well that fear got confirmed yesterday rather haphazardly  and unintentionally by a friend  on the ye old FB page.   It’s common knowledge within my inner circle I have a blog,  that I am writing my first-ever Fantasy novel, and that I write oodles of poetry.  I post links to just about everything I write,  I mean here I am  wondering if I may post too much about it.  On the contrary obviously I don’t post enough about what I do on spare time.

Yesterday I was going to break one of the cardinal rules of writing.  I was going to stop writing completely.  Yes that’s right throw away my bardic quill and try some suburban gig of existence.  Something called fear crawled up my womb and gave birth to many little  monsters.  I never felt so emotionally paralyzed but there I was yesterday completely unable to have a rational thought process after coming to a tragic conclusion.  What if all this time and after countless years that no one has bothered to read my work?  Have I been donning some Jester’s hat all this time?  Has the joke really been on me?

You see Boys & Girls, Madams & Gents, Cool Cats &  even Cooler Kittens.  (pick a variance)  I am a writer.   I am a single candle among all the other candles.  There are different colors, shapes, sizes, and daresay molds.  My voice is a single flame and I want it to reach the masses, I want my flame to rise  above, so that it can be seen.  So that my voice can be heard whether it be blog, novel, poem, or if intoxicated and I feel like doing a limerick.  I want my voice by  my pen the sword to be heard.  What writer doesn’t?  So the very concept of what seems that even friends are not paying attention.  Yeah its a gut-punch well to the gut.  No other way to describe it.

So after hours of seething and self-loathing.  I pulled up my big-girl britches and realized I like what I do.  As a writer I have chosen to display myself to tough crowds.  If they don’t understand or want to know my “voice” then that is up to them.  I cannot simply find the “off-switch” and stop doing this.  But a snake can shed its skin for a brighter skin one that’s a little more tough and durable.  So I’m skin-shedding and rediscovering why I have chosen to do this.  The writing will continue meanwhile.

My single flame is still burning perhaps evermore brightly  🙂


Serpentine Tragedienne (Bone Mamma Belle)

A Poetic Response to “Amontillado”

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It’s probably apparent by now that I am a HUGE fan of Edgar Allen Poe.  For quite some time I have been wanting to write a poetic response to the first stanza of my favoritest Poe short-story.  That being “The Cask of Amontillado”  it is something about the very first stanza that intrigued me writing senses for quite some time.  Finally my muse and I were in enough accord to do something about it.  Here is my PR (Poetic Response) to one of the best vengeance stories of all time.  I will post the original stanza and the follow-up being my own PR.  Comments and feedback not only welcomed but certainly most appreciated.

Spooky Regards,

Bone Mamma Belle

THE thousand injuries of Fortunato I had borne as I best could, but when he ventured upon insult, I vowed revenge.  You, who so well know the nature of my soul, will not suppose, however, that I gave utterance to a threat. AT LENGTH I would be avenged; this was a point definitively settled — but the very definitiveness with which it was resolved precluded the idea of risk.  I must not only punish, but punish with impunity. A wrong is unredressed when retribution overtakes its redresser.  It is equally unredressed when the avenger fails to make himself felt as such to him who has done the wrong.”  

— Excerpt From “The Cask of Amontillado” by Edgar Allen Poe

Fortunato’s Words 10/06/2012 (Poetic Response)

Montresor hath said to others that I had borne him a thousand injuries. Never did he in his gentility ever utter the word of revenge to others.  Yet such thoughts of sweet vengeance can be just as deadly left in the mind of such morosity. I who bear the name of Fortunato know full well the nature of souls of  such as my passive aggressor. At no short length would he be avenged and he is a novice at such impunities.   A wrong can be addressed by retribution but at what length would its avenger go to have such retribution. Be careful not to avenge yourself so much that you also commit the wrong you are trying to avenge.

©2013 Tragedienne Belle Morte

An Ode to Poe

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As I found myself reading some Poe before bedtime last night.  I found myself traveling through my own poetic archives and found this goodie.  I wrote this about eight years ago but I have always loved it.  Edgar Allen Poe is one of my favorite authors of all time, and yes I had to give tribute.  I wrote this from the perspective of “Lenore” because I always wondered “what if’?  Please enjoy the following selection 🙂

Spooky Regards,

Bone Mamma Belle

Ode to Lenore’s Raven  07/10/2005

Once upon a midnight dreary, while he pondered weak and weary,

Over many quaint and curious volumes of forgotten lore,

Due to his unfaithfulness,

On my deathbed did I decide to settle
the score,

Through the seven hells it heard my prayer,

And what appeared was a
sight far scarier,

Feathers black as pitch and eyes like fire,

It knew immediately my
utmost desire,

“May he know no peace,

may he forever be left in torment,

let madness

become his insanity” I spoke,

Quote the Raven as it replied “Nevermore”,

The nightmare began shortly after my demise,

When my once beloved

was merely sleeping,

then came the infamous tapping,

The tapping of his chamber door,

it was the beginning of so much more,

This foul craven creature performed its duty,

with absolute morbid glory,

My former lover had paid the price dearly,

 left insane for all eternity,

It’s a pity my agreement wasn’t stated more clearly,

What goes around indeed comes around,

the price paid for a woman being scorned,

Now I’m left with this feathered terror,

in a plagued abyss with no ending,

left forever with the raven’s cawing,

Uttering a single word, forever tormenting,

Quote the Raven as it sayeth “Nevermore”.

© 2005  Tragedienne Belle Morte Based Upon: “The Raven” by Edgar Allen Poe 

From The Collection “Plasmatic BloodFall”


Iced Hearts (Another Oldie Poem)

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In the effort of trying to recapture “Sylphie” (yes my muse has a name) my poetic muse.  I am posting another older poem.  This gem came from a night of female scorn.  Hell hath  no fury like poet who has felt Cupid’s prickly quiver.  Enjoy the following selection  🙂

Pax Vobiscum,


 Iced Hearts 12/30/2005
My heart has been shattered,
my walls are being repaired. 

I’ll build the fort stronger so that you’ll no longer get in.

This is my body,

this is my blood,

no longer your temple. 

Find your worship elsewhere .

Isolation covered the snowstorm,

as bitterness solaces my heart.

These storm of swords obliterated your houses of daggers,

 My army defeated the beasts within,

 My crown encased in ice ,  

touch it I dare.

My venom treacherous as dragons flames,

drink and beware. 

Your pretty poison covered in ribbons and lace, 

 Your rejection one tragic disgrace. 

Visages smitten with evil,

how it was all your choice. 

 This is my soul,

this is my darkness,

no longer your salvation.

A guidance against the beams of radiant light.

Your torment,

your everlasting plague,

In the end you are left alone,

to serve the shame.

©2005 Tragedienne Belle Morte  from the Collection: “When Snowflakes Fall”