The Withering Psyche Of A Madman
  • Reads 675
  • Votes 25
  • Parts 9
  • Time 1h 13m
  • Reads 675
  • Votes 25
  • Parts 9
  • Time 1h 13m
Complete, First published Apr 06, 2020
Mature
"Nature is full of such illusions to impress the imaginative."
                                             - H. P. Lovecraft 



In a lone dark place, away from the prying of civilization, deep down beneath the kingdom of rats, was a dimly lit room.

Nothing was on it. Except for a rather unpleasant scenery.

A woman strapped tightly on a shabby torture rack, with her was a psychopatic being with an obvious devious track on mind.

He tells her stories.

Stories that will keep her company for a while.

But will she even be alive before it all ends?

----Complete-----
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Reflected sorrows

40 parts Complete

A lost, grieving soul enters the jaws of an insatiable beast, where the eyes of uncannily well-preserved paintings reach for her weary, lonesome corpse like crows. This mansion has no history to be felt or heard; it's as if the rooms are hollow and ravenous, their stale tranquillity broken by irregular draughts that send shudders down her spine as oppressive as the clattering of a needle to the floor. There lie secrets. Secrets and betrayals. In the mirrors, familiar faces crawl out from their eternal doom to grasp her pale skin and whisper trenchant advice into her ears with a sickly tongue, hearing her heartbeat like the ticking of a clock; candles that breathe within her. Those faces have lain so long in wait among the stitches and threads of madness, waiting for her arrival. Though the hours crawl onwards, she remains, watching and listening to the whispers of sorrow that lurk behind her at every acrimonious gust of wind howling through the mouth of the great beast. What awaits her within these halls, engulfed in oppressive, potent mists of grief? Who may she meet in the reflections of trembling malady? Through it all, that face haunts her every step. Yellow skin and seething eyes. Ink-stained and bloody. Cackling as insidious as death. Woeful as grief.