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Of course you know how it all played out. Richard got his way. The wealth of another flowed through his veins as a 'thank you' for certain services. He fingered the witch. They took her away so they might burn her. Tomas could not effect a rescue. These people believed in magic. They knew spirits and talking spiders and parasitic twins that laughed and spat bile. The conveyancing of prisoners happened by sunlight, to lessen the chance of evil intervention. Daytime and devils don't mix... or so they thought.
So the girl was gone. And he was alone, a cold, white spirit of the night. Silvia.... her name recalled the silvery shimmer of moonbeams. Tomas tried to bribe people. Corrupt judges and churchmen were not hard to find. Yet none would take his money, for Sylvia called his name and they knew. Records were kept. People whispered. Beadles told stories and wise woman sang songs. Tomas, known as Jonathon..... they knew him. His story was in books. I believe there was an accurate woodcut too. And as much as they wanted his gold, none would touch it. The fire burned both ways. And many a witch finder bounced to the other side. A conflagration is hard to control.
After a time, they took her to the place of final visions. Few words were spoken. She was numb, drugged by a somewhat moral jailer. No visitors. No letters. Her grieving family, forcibly indentured to the rice fields of Carolina.
Tomas tried to find her. He'd get in. He'd transform her. He'd save her, after a fashion. But if you've been with us a while, and if you've read MARIANNE IN BRITCHES, you understand vampiric limitations. Nothing goes through lead. Sublimation is impossible and thoughts fall down and die. Every monarch had one... a 'dark house,' I mean.... a fortress, or castle with a lead-lined inner court, paved and paneled in thick, black, cold, heavy sheets.
Let me ask you something. Do you know how long it takes a living soul to burn? Minutes? No. Even if the flame-keeper stacks fresh, green wood. True, it produces noxious fumes and hastens the passage, but even then the calves are roasted black. Some shriek and convulse so violently they die. Necks snaps, skulls shatter... especially in England, where the stake is made from iron. Oh, and just so you know, that conducts heat very well too. A few flame-keepers are maestros, adept at maintaining a long, slow, even burn. First the feet. Then the legs. Third comes the sex. Three things are necessary for life.... a heart.... the lungs, a brain. And they can function in a shriveled, eyeless body. Witnesses say Saint Joan endured for an hour. Some people hold on for two. Believe me...it is a contest no one wants to win...
And Sylvia faced it alone. No strangling before hand. No bags of gun powder tied about the neck. No wholesome things like that..... nothing.....
That's why Tomas was so adamant.
There'll be a good show tonight. Perhaps you imagine something like the free form bouts slackers dote on? Well, it's not like that at all. And those stories you've heard about apes destroying humans don't come close to this.
Ripped by talons. Chewed by harpies. Torn by demon hands.
Some of the mortals in attendance will faint. A few might even die. Once, the Dowager Duchess of one vast holding or another threw herself from the battlements to escape the hellish scene. The 'Revels' have been with use for ages.
Sir Richard communes with his spirits....
While Tomas says prayers to his God.....
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Thank you for your time. please nominate me for a SHORTY AWARD...Just tweet this ~~> I nominate @wilkravitz for a SHORTY AWARD as #BLOGGER based on his stories and narratives.... Good night.
So the girl was gone. And he was alone, a cold, white spirit of the night. Silvia.... her name recalled the silvery shimmer of moonbeams. Tomas tried to bribe people. Corrupt judges and churchmen were not hard to find. Yet none would take his money, for Sylvia called his name and they knew. Records were kept. People whispered. Beadles told stories and wise woman sang songs. Tomas, known as Jonathon..... they knew him. His story was in books. I believe there was an accurate woodcut too. And as much as they wanted his gold, none would touch it. The fire burned both ways. And many a witch finder bounced to the other side. A conflagration is hard to control.
After a time, they took her to the place of final visions. Few words were spoken. She was numb, drugged by a somewhat moral jailer. No visitors. No letters. Her grieving family, forcibly indentured to the rice fields of Carolina.
Tomas tried to find her. He'd get in. He'd transform her. He'd save her, after a fashion. But if you've been with us a while, and if you've read MARIANNE IN BRITCHES, you understand vampiric limitations. Nothing goes through lead. Sublimation is impossible and thoughts fall down and die. Every monarch had one... a 'dark house,' I mean.... a fortress, or castle with a lead-lined inner court, paved and paneled in thick, black, cold, heavy sheets.
Let me ask you something. Do you know how long it takes a living soul to burn? Minutes? No. Even if the flame-keeper stacks fresh, green wood. True, it produces noxious fumes and hastens the passage, but even then the calves are roasted black. Some shriek and convulse so violently they die. Necks snaps, skulls shatter... especially in England, where the stake is made from iron. Oh, and just so you know, that conducts heat very well too. A few flame-keepers are maestros, adept at maintaining a long, slow, even burn. First the feet. Then the legs. Third comes the sex. Three things are necessary for life.... a heart.... the lungs, a brain. And they can function in a shriveled, eyeless body. Witnesses say Saint Joan endured for an hour. Some people hold on for two. Believe me...it is a contest no one wants to win...
And Sylvia faced it alone. No strangling before hand. No bags of gun powder tied about the neck. No wholesome things like that..... nothing.....
That's why Tomas was so adamant.
There'll be a good show tonight. Perhaps you imagine something like the free form bouts slackers dote on? Well, it's not like that at all. And those stories you've heard about apes destroying humans don't come close to this.
Ripped by talons. Chewed by harpies. Torn by demon hands.
Some of the mortals in attendance will faint. A few might even die. Once, the Dowager Duchess of one vast holding or another threw herself from the battlements to escape the hellish scene. The 'Revels' have been with use for ages.
Sir Richard communes with his spirits....
While Tomas says prayers to his God.....
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Thank you for your time. please nominate me for a SHORTY AWARD...Just tweet this ~~> I nominate @wilkravitz for a SHORTY AWARD as #BLOGGER based on his stories and narratives.... Good night.
