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Gothic Stories

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Earned My Beads On Downing Street

What would you do, if you had forever ... but only one day a year?

“Of all the carnal powers; and the blessings of the Shrove of Man; Grant me this small mercy. By the Saints and martyrs - beyond, before, within my blood rite, and without. Guard and protect my soul tonight. I ask all this as your humble servant. E Nomine Patri. Et Fili. E Spiritu Sancti. Amen.” As the prayer was uttered, the flame flickered. Once the seal was said, the flame was hushed into smoke. William got up from his...

Serendipity for Serenity

a beautiful house too good to be true; often is.

It was difficult to be the type of person Serenity was in this day and age. Her last boyfriend Crenshaw did not understand her attraction to buildings over people. He didn’t understand why she hoarded, collected housing magazines and architecture manuals like others collect other more normal things. It was the geometry and beauty of them. They held a kind of symmetry that humanity didn’t. And so when she found this house,...

Rose

Inspired by the art of Lucinda Lyons.

Fair Rose of all seasons; Long enamored of you, The sun searches the daytime Then searches anew, Vainly hoping to snare you In his gossamer light. The stars in their towers All relish the sight Of your dark eyes gleaming And the glint of your smile. Forsaking the heavens, They sail for a while Close to a heart - all knowing, Close to a soul of flame, As the breezes caress you And the seas speak your name. But who knows yo...

Lucy Rises

The grave cannot chill the desire of the undead

I thought they buried you in the snowLast winter-- but, pray, was that me?Curious, how I’ve nowhere to go,But pace the graves at half past three:Mysterious ‘tis, where goes my mindThese bleary days since I spied you last;It seems I’m cloistered from my kind,Lost, amazed, in the winding past.But look at you! As snowflakes white,Trellised atop the gravestone’s perch!How does your trembling lip invite,Like toll of midnight b...

Her Portrait

Inspired by the work of Lucinda Lyons with a nod to Swinburne.

In a chamber suffused with emotion By the light of innumerable dawns, In a house betwixt forests and ocean, Where the briar rose bristles with thorns; There hangs her portrait in splendour, In mystic silence, forsaken, unknown, In lines both violent and tender And colours of thunderous tone. Her eyes bespeak wisdom and knowing, Her face; enigmatic and ever serene With tresses luxuriant, flowing To realms of delight yet un...