Reblog of The Death of The March Hare: A Poem

March 31, 2020 at 10:00 pm (Fantasy, Literature, Mystery/horror, Mythology, Poetry) (, , , , , )

A narrative poem I wrote 3 years ago today:

Dracul Van Helsing

Persephone

On her throne, Persephone the Queen of the Underworld did decree
that the March Hare had brought joy to far too many
and it was time that this valiant hare should die
and should be now before March time did fly

So on this last day of March 2017
as the Hare drank tea with a Heartly Queen
the Messenger of Death did drop Polonium-210
into the hare’s teacup at the stroke of Big Ben

The hare raised the tea to his lips
as Mad Hatter recalled his latest trips
up through and outside the Rabbit hole
when the poor hare turned as black as coal

“Remember to pay the phone bill” were the Hare’s last words before he died
as into the frying pan went the Heartly queen’s kipper being fried
The March Hare fell over quite dead
and the Heartly queen turned bright red
“I did not say…

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Miranda Singh and The Wonderous Pair of Goldfish

March 30, 2020 at 10:59 pm (Fantasy, Geopolitics and International Relations, International Intrigue, love, Mythology, News, Romance, The Supernatural, Vampire novel) (, , , , , , , )

Miranda Singh and The Wonderous Pair of Goldfish

“And in other news, Pope Francis has tested negative for the Coronavirus but remains positive for Communism… ” 

Renfield switched over from Britain’s Sky News to BBC News where a friend of his was delivering the news:

“And the 600 year old Miraculous Crucifix of Christ that Pope Francis brought out to deliver his Urbi et Orbi message last Friday has suffered intense water damage as a result of the rainfall that occurred while the Pope gave his speech castigating the world for not following his globalist Neo-Marxist Neo-Bolshevik agenda and as a result the God of Surprises (the god worshipped by Francis) had sent this pandemic upon the world. Pope Francis gave this speech to the empty Saint Peter’s Square while standing comfortably under a large canopy in the pouring rain with his back turned against the Miraculous Crucifix of Christ that became drenched in the pouring rain being a great distance behind the canopy and the ancient unique statue has suffered intense water damage as a result…”

Renfield switched over to ITV News:

“Former British Prime Minister Gordon Brown has called for a One World Government in the wake of the Coronavirus crisis.
Minutes after he made the statement, a cream pie was thrown in his face by an invisible force.
Although a London bobby who had been drinking Harvey Wallbangers on the job says he saw a 6 foot 8 tall bunny rabbit with big pink floppety ears do it.”

. . .

The storm clouds descend
A beast has crawled from Egypt’s sphinx 
towards Bethlehem to be born
A virus fancying itself as wise
has arisen from the East 
and spread its tentacles all over the world 
Offering gifts of pain, suffering and death
Instead of gold, frankincense and myrrh 
in adoration of the new Messiah.

. . .

In the streams of a large conservatory greenhouse in London, Set Enterprises secret agent Miranda Singh saw two multicoloured goldfish that she had never seen in the stream before swim to escape a shark she had never seen in that stream before.

The goldfish leapt above a huge rock towards another stream.

The shark likewise leapt and landed on the rock hitting its head knocking itself out.

The shark then metamorphosed into the form of the Greek god Ares.

Ares still lay there unconscious.

The two goldfish then shapeshifted into human form.

One of them Miranda recognized as being Canadian vampire hunter Dracul Van Helsing.

And the other she recognized as being Mahina the Hawaiian and Polynesian Goddess of the Moon.

They left the conservatory.

Miranda looked down at the stream and thought, “Oh brave new world that has such people in it.”

-A vampire novel chapter
written by Christopher
Monday March 30th
2020.

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The Storyteller: Weaving Cloth and Spinning A Tale

March 19, 2020 at 10:17 pm (Fantasy, Literature, magic, Poetry, Romance) ()

The Storyteller: Weaving Cloth and Spinning A Tale 

Outside the world spins on its axis
As she spins cloth in actual praxis
In her mind she spins tales 
like mermaid meeting whales 

Fairies and butterflies sit on shelves
While her goldfish bowl swims with elves
Harlequin dolls on floors watch the cloth being weaved
As magic falls seamlessly out of her sleeve 

For her mind is full of tales never told
of magical creatures and maidens bold
In a land she imagines where love ne’er grows old 
Where knights shine and evil giants fold

Her old phonograph plays songs of yesteryear
Where sometimes those lyric memories can bring forth a tear 
Her window on the world becomes a magic mirror 
Where dark things are far but hope is nearer 
Outside ships may burn and conquering dirigibles fly
While she entertains her fairy 
audience with sweet lullaby 

Sometimes in dark times, one has to stay home
But for a mind such as hers, she has a whole world to roam

-A poem written by Christopher
Thursday March 19th 2020

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Justin Trudeau Encounters A Mesoamerican Deity In His Pot Smoking Antique Mirror

March 12, 2020 at 10:54 pm (Fantasy, Geopolitics and International Relations, Gothic, International Intrigue, Mystery, Mystery/horror, Mythology, News, Politics, Sorcery, The Occult, The Supernatural, Vampire novel) (, , , , , , , )

Justin Trudeau Encounters A Mesoamerican Deity In His Pot Smoking Antique Mirror

Canadian Prime Minister Justin Trudeau had cancelled a First Ministers’ emergency meeting with provincial premiers, territorial leaders and indigenous leaders to discuss the Coronavirus because he himself may have come down with the Coronavirus.

His wife Sophie Gregoire Trudeau had returned from a speaking engagement in London, England last night and had not been feeling well.

She self isolated while awaiting results from a test for Coronavirus.

Justin decided it might be a good example to self-isolate as well.

So he had spent the day re-enacting the Battle of Trafalgar with an armada of rubber ducks in his bathtub.

His wife Sophie had phoned him from the room next door an hour ago and said she had tested positive for the Coronavirus.

“Shit,” Justin thought to himself.

Now he might have to self-isolate a lot longer than he intended.

He walked out to the greenhouse to visit his marijuana inhaling and exhaling antique mirror named Magical Mystery Tour.

He was surprised to see the mirror was reflecting both himself and the greenhouse plants around the mirror instead of the mysterious rare and used book store at the corner of a foreboding dark alley and desolate fog filled street in London, England the way it usually did.

Since he could see his own reflection in the mirror tonight, he decided to put on some blackface since he always felt better wearing blackface for some reason.

A psychiatrist once told him that this feeling was probably due to “penis envy”.

Justin thought that was strange since he thought it was only some women who were prone to penis envy.

The Canadian Prime Minister noticed that the gardener had left the television on just above the coconut tree in the greenhouse.

It showed an old Tarzan movie whereby Tarzan was tied to a tree and an African tribal chief was holding up a 9 inch ruler and pointing at Tarzan and shaking his head and laughing.

“I wonder what message the universe will try to tell me tonight,” Justin thought as he reached for his box of black shoe polish that was hidden underneath the hyacinth plant.

Justin went over and looked at himself in the mirror and started putting the black shoe polish all over his face.

“I now look like Harry Belafonte,” the former drama teacher and amateur thespian grinned at himself in the mirror.

Soon his reflection vanished into the blackness of night emerging from the mirror.

An image of what looked to be a sinister Mesoamerican deity appeared in the mirror as huge whiffs of marijuana smoke came out of the wooden sides of the mirror.

The head of the deity was a sinister looking bluish green skull with a black stripe and a yellow stripe painted across his face.

His right foot was an obsidian mirror.

Although occasionally his right foot would metamorphose into a snake.

When this happened, the obsidian mirror would show up on the deity’s chest instead and sometimes smoke would emanate from the mirror.

Justin entered the antique late Victorian/early Edwardian mirror named Magical Mystery Tour and leaned his painted blackface down to inhale the pot smoke emanating from the obsidian mirror on the deity’s chest.

In the background behind the Mesoamerican deity, the Great Bear constellation shone brightly in the night sky.

In the Great Bear constellation directly behind the deity danced a spotted skin jaguar.

The jaguar sang his own paraphrased version of an old Harry Belafonte song,

“Night-o, night-o, night time come and you oughta go home…”

-A vampire novel chapter
written by Christopher
Thursday March 12th
2020.

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Carnevale In Venice: Masque of The Dread Death

February 25, 2020 at 11:43 pm (Fantasy, Geopolitics and International Relations, International Intrigue, Literature, Mystery, Mystery/horror, Mythology, News, Poetry, The Supernatural, Vampire novel) (, , , , , , , )

Carnevale In Venice: Masque of The Dread Death

Coronavirus spreads 
like jam on bread 
China, Iran, South Korea,
Northern Italy
Wide clusters of cases

Authorities decree 
no carnevale masque balls
In Venice 
The night before Ash Wednesday 
Thus Lent will arrive early for many

Mardi Gras in New Orleans
Parades and music 
Party goers dance 
Voodoo spells 
Driven away by sounds of jazz
Many dollars are spent on the French Quarter

In Canada, Shrove Tuesday
aka National Pancake Day
Justin Trudeau with 
post-Magical Mystery Tour pot smoke munchies 
eats two dozen pancakes 
covered in patriotic maple syrup 
Goes to give speech on how to end child hunger 
Ends up with a loss for words

But in Venice 
no joy on the canal
Coronavirus has come out

But the children of the night 
are natural rebels
Like wolves outside a Transylvanian nobleman’s castle 
What music they make

They put on masks
Ladies in lovely Renaissance style evening gowns
Men wearing white wigs 
And wearing Age of Louis XIV attire 
likewise mask themselves 

Rent gondolas
And sail canals of Venice 
In defiance of authorities
Dance on the streets

One son of Night 
wearing a New York Knicks
t-shirt walks around singing,
“I am what I am”
On his face he wears the Greek mask of Comedy
At the back of his head the Greek mask of Tragedy 

He goes up to people with his happy smiling laughing face
He touches them gently
They fall to ground dead
He walks away 
And you can see the sad crying unhappy face 

He goes into an elegant Venetian hotel 
And up to a room
Where he opens the door

And there is the Greek goddess Hera
The Queen of Olympus

Hera speaks,
Thanatos, son of Nyx,
You have turned a carnevale cruise 
into Charon’s ferry ride across the Styx.

-A poem and vampire novel chapter
written by Christopher
Tuesday February 25th
2020.

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Such Stuff As Dreams Are Made Of

January 13, 2020 at 11:55 pm (Fantasy, Folklore, Poetry, Romance, Short Story) (, , , )

Such Stuff As Dreams Are Made Of

Walking through the large prairie museum
There was an authentic old steam train 
He went and climbed aboard 
And sat in one of the carriages 
Imagining he was travelling somewhere

Imagine his shock when the engine smoked,
The bell rang
And the conductor cried “All aboard”
And the train started moving

Not out of the museum 
On to the surrounding prairie
Instead the train travelled through the Swiss Alps
The man walked through the train 
And standing on the platform on one of the carriages 
was a beautiful dark haired woman 
Wearing a warrior’s breasted arm plate 
And a pleated black skirt 
And playing a cello 

The woman jumped off the train 
And the man was pushed 
And the man found himself in a dark wintry forest with falling snow 
And there was the same woman wearing a long flowing white dress
And blowing snow flowed through her long waving hair 
And she was still playing the cello

Soon the man found himself in an Italian Renaissance palace drawing room 
And on a lounge chair
(The same sort of chair on which Napoleon Bonaparte’s sister Pauline Borghese in the sculpture Venus Victrix by Antonio Canova had posed nude)
sat the same long haired woman
Now wearing a long elegant flowing red evening dress gown 
And still playing the cello
Behind her was a statue of the Greek goddess Aphrodite appearing to the right of the lounge chair
And appearing to the left 
was a dresser table
On which stood a statue of Saint Michael the Archangel triumphing over the Devil
And to the right of that statue 
also on the dresser was a human skull

The man soon found himself on a sunny sandy beach
And the same woman approached him
Now she was wearing a beautiful elegant yellow dress on which on the front was emblazoned a beautiful gorgeous looking fiery red Phoenix
The woman did not have her cello with her 
She approached the man
And then the Phoenix came alive 
And flew up from the front of her dress
And flew into the sky 
And thence into the distant horizon
Then the cello appeared in her hands 
And she once again began playing

Now the man found himself under water 
In a underwater palace
And there was the woman
in a white dress swimming 

But she had no cello with her

Then the man found himself in the arm chair of the fireplace room
In the house in which he lived

Shakespeare had once said, We are such stuff as dreams are made of 
Recalling that, the man mused that at least he was made of unique and unusual stuff.

-A poem and short story 
written by Christopher
Monday January 13th
2020.

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215 Years Since Napoleon Bonaparte’s Coronation In Notre Dame Cathedral

December 2, 2019 at 11:57 pm (Fantasy, Geopolitics and International Relations, History, International Intrigue, Mythology, News, Politics, The Supernatural, Vampire novel) (, , , , , , , , , , , , , , , )

215 Years Since Napoleon Bonaparte’s Coronation In Notre Dame Cathedral

It was 215 years ago today that Napoleon Bonaparte had himself crowned as Emperor of the French in Notre Dame Cathedral.

Pope Pius VII had held the crown at the coronation ceremony in Notre Dame but Napoleon grabbed the crown from the pontiff and crowned himself Emperor of The French.

The Kraken Napoleon VI (who was a huge admirer of the original Emperor Napoleon I) decided to mark the occasion by having himself crowned Emperor of the French again.

He had himself crowned Emperor of the French by the Monsignor of Notre Dame Cathedral back on December 2nd 2015.

But no one in the French government or any voters among the French electorate recognized the Imperial Coronation much to the Kraken’s disappointment.

Of course on this particular occasion Notre Dame Cathedral was now closed to the public since the April fire in the cathedral earlier this year.

And the Monsignor of Notre Dame Cathedral attended classes on the Quran every Monday night so he was unable to attend for the Kraken’s re-coronation service this evening.

So the Kraken decided to hold his re-coronation ceremony (marking the original Napoleon’s 215th year of coronation) in front of Paris’ famous Arc de Triomphe.

He wore neo-Napoleonic French Imperial robes designed by the House of Chanel to easily accommodate his 8 arms.

He hired a stork (who had tired of the baby delivering business) to fly down and deposit the Crown of Napoleon I on his head after fireworks had gone off and the Orchestre de Paris had finished played a stirring rendition of La Marseillaise as well as the theme music from the 1983 James Bond film Octopussy.

The ceremony went off without a hitch.

Donald Trump, who was currently in London for tomorrow’s 70th Anniversary meeting of NATO, watched the coronation ceremony on British television.

Trump thought to himself, “I really should have myself crowned Emperor of America.”

. . .

Canadian Prime Minister Justin Trudeau was likewise in London for the 70th Anniversary meeting of NATO.

He had recently heard the good news from CSIS (Canadian Security Intelligence Service) that a pair of time travellers had gone back in time and rescued his pet pot smoking desert cactus plant Strawberry Fields Forever from being murdered by PRC Ministry of State Security operatives on Xi Jinping’s orders.

Justin Trudeau had heard that Strawberry Fields Forever was currently being kept on the colossal London estate of the Egyptian billionaire Set who owned the multi-billion dollar research and development firm Set Enterprises.

Trudeau directed the Canadian Embassy car to be driven to the Set mansion so he could re-unite with his old friend Strawberry Fields Forever.

However Justin did not announce his visit and the Embassy car was set upon by the Set Estate’s guard and watch cat Nefertiti Galore who tore the Rolls-Royce limousine apart with her claws.

She then set out after the Canadian Prime Minister and the Embassy chauffeur.

The Embassy chauffeur managed to escape.

Justin wasn’t so lucky.

He had his clothes ripped off by Nefertiti Galore’s claws.

He was then arrested by Scotland Yard police for exposing himself on the streets of London.

. . .

British MP Renfield R. Renfield and his friend the vampiress Mei-ling Manchu were in London and were walking back from a service commemorating the victims of last Friday’s London Bridge attack.

Renfield happened to walk in the way of Donald Trump who happened to be exiting his limousine.

Trump who thought Renfield could be as easily pushed around as the Prime Minister of Montenegro a couple of years back pushed Renfield out of the way.

Big mistake on Trump’s part.

Renfield turned around and punched Trump in the head sending his golden urine coloured toupee flying 50 feet down the street.

Secret Service agents tackled Renfield to the ground thinking he was an assassin.

Big mistake on the Secret Service agents’ part.

Mei-ling Manchu moved quickly into action and used her martial arts skills to kick and send all of the Secret Service agents flying over the dome of Saint Paul’s Cathedral.

A dirigible flying above the dome carried John Donne’s message, “Ask not for whom the bell tolls. It tolls for thee.”

-A vampire novel chapter
written by Christopher
Monday December 2nd 
2019.

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The Dance

November 23, 2019 at 11:34 pm (Fantasy, Short Story)

The Dance

Our lives are better left to chance
I could have missed the pain 
But I’d have to miss the dance.

-song by Garth Brooks

Peter came through the front door and his mother asked from the kitchen, “So, are you going to ask a girl to the Christmas dance next month?”.

“No,” said Peter angrily, “I don’t know how to dance.”

“But I thought you’ve been taking dance lessons in school the past few weeks,” his mother said.

“The class was full and I couldn’t get in,” Peter replied.

“Why didn’t you say something?” His mother inquired, “I could have paid to send you to private lessons at Madame Cotillard’s Dance Studio in town.”

“You know we can’t afford dance lessons,” Peter opened the door of his bedroom, entered and closed the door.

He’d have liked to ask Maria to the Christmas dance but he could just imagine making a fool of himself on the dance floor.

Peter looked over at his book shelf.

There was an old book on the shelf called Teach Yourself How To Dance.

A do-it-yourself book, Peter laughed, and yet the old saying was, It takes two to tango.

Despite that thought, he took the book off the shelf and opened it.

An old photo fell on to the floor.

Peter had never opened the book when he bought it at the rummage sale last year.

He just needed one more book for the 10 Books For 50c sale and grabbed that one.

He looked at the photo:

“Wow, I wouldn’t mind learning to dance with her,” Peter said.

He put the photo beside his bed.

After supper, he came back to his room and fell asleep.

When he awoke, the girl in the photo was standing in his bedroom.

“Who are you?” He asked.

“I’m Simone,” the girl answered, “and I’m here to teach you how to dance.”

Every night for the next 2 weeks, Simone appeared at the same time and taught Peter how to dance.

So Peter asked Maria to the dance.

And she accepted.

Maybe he would end up being made fun of for his dancing.

And being made fun of would bring him pain.

But it’s like Garth Brooks once said.

He could have missed the pain.

But he’d have to miss the dance.

-A short story 
written by Christopher
Saturday November 23rd
2019.

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In London Harvey Tallbanger Meets Gali-Gula

November 19, 2019 at 11:58 pm (Fantasy, Geopolitics and International Relations, International Intrigue, News, Politics, Vampire novel) (, , )

Harvey Tallbanger Meets Gali-Gula 

The 6 foot 8 tall Welsh pooka bunny rabbit Harvey Tallbanger (who was invisible most of the time) was walking down a street in London, England when he accidentally inhaled a whole bunch of marijuana smoke that was being exhaled at a street corner by one of British Labour Party leader Jeremy Corbyn’s leading Brexit advisors.

Inside a London pub, the ET Gray Gali-Gula (an ET Gray from the planet Nibiru who was possessed by the spirit of the ancient earthling Roman Emperor Caligula) was sitting up at the bar drinking a whole bunch of Harvey Wallbangers.

Tallbanger entered the pub.

As a result of inhaling marijuana smoke, the rabbit was able to see the ET Gray sitting up at the bar.

As a result of drinking Harvey Wallbangers, the ET Gray was able to see the very tall bunny rabbit.

Tallbanger sat next to Gali-Gula.

Within minutes, the pair realized they could see one another.

“Did you recently inhale marijuana smoke?” ET Gray asked bunny rabbit.

“I did,” bunny rabbit replied, “and I see you’ve obviously been drinking Harvey Wallbangers.”

“That I have,” ET Gray admitted.

Gali-Gula then asked Harvey Tallbanger what he’d been doing recently.

“Well,” Harvey replied, “I have spent quite a bit of time in North America recently where I have been throwing cream pies in the faces of political idiots.”

“You must have used up an awful lot of cream pies,” Gali-Gula observed.

“That I have,” Harvey nodded, “The bakery where I buy them was working overtime 24 hours a day to keep up with my orders.”

The ET Gray ordered another Wallbanger from the pot smoking pub keeper.

“So, what drives you to drink on this fine evening?” Harvey asked the little ET.

“A friend of mine Canada’s Prime Minister Justin Trudeau is announcing his new cabinet tomorrow and not once did he seek my advice about his appointments,” Gali-Gula cried in someone else’s beer, “I thought he’d inhale pot smoke somewhere somehow so I could appear to him and tell him who to pick.”

The ET Gray blubbered all over a chocolate cake that was made to look like a whale and was sitting on the bar counter.

“How do you know when Prime Minister Justin has inhaled pot smoke?” Tallbanger inquired.

“This beeper that looks like a miniature Captain James T. Kirk goes off,” Gali-Gula pulled the mini Captain Kirk figure out of the place where his belly button should have been if he was a human and not an ET Gray, “Oh, my God, it looks like the battery’s dead. How long has it been dead? I haven’t looked at it for a week. Maybe Justin has been inhaling pot smoke to contact me and since the battery wasn’t working, the beeper didn’t go off and I didn’t answer him if he had called via marijuana smoke.”

Gali-Gula dreamed about weeping into the bosom of a bicycling Italian farm girl he had met this past summer:

-A vampire novel chapter
written by Christopher 
Tuesday November 19th
2019.

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Dashwood Forrest, The Empty Portrait and Hurricane Dorian

September 3, 2019 at 11:01 pm (Aesthetics, Art, Arts, Fantasy, Folklore, Geopolitics and International Relations, Ghost Story, Gothic, Gothic romance, History, Horror, International Intrigue, magic, Mystery, Mystery/horror, Mythology, News, Philosophy, The Occult, The Supernatural, Vampire novel) (, , , , , , , , , )

Dashwood Forrest, The Empty Portrait and Hurricane Dorian

Dashwood Forrest sat in his office in his art gallery in London and quietly sipped a drink of absinthe.

The Green Fairy as it was called was one of the favourite drinks of his idol the writer, novelist, poet and playwright Oscar Wilde.

Forrest’s living dead Irish manservant Mulligan the Irish zombie (who had been brought back from the dead many years ago by South African witch doctor Dr. Sterling Makabo) was out for the evening.

Mulligan had been hired for the evening by British MP Renfield R. Renfield to haunt the residence of British Labour Party leader Jeremy Corbyn and stand outside the back entrance of Corbyn’s lodgings and say in a spookily haunting zombie voice (with an Irish lilt to it), “The Irish backstop ends at your back door, Mr. Corbyn. The Irish backstop ends at your backdoor.”

As Jeremy Corbyn began to suffer the worst nightmares of his life, Forrest finished his glass of absinthe, left his office and locked it.

He walked down to the end of the gallery where he entered a room marked PRIVATE.

No one (not even Mulligan the Irish zombie) ever entered that room.

Only he Dashwood Forrest art historian, art gallery curator and extraordinary gentleman of many talents ever entered that room.

For that room contained a portrait behind purple velvet curtains.

A portrait of a man.

A portrait of a man painted in the year 1860.

A portrait that was first mentioned in a book published in July 1890.

A book that most people (and even Dashwood Forrest himself for most of his life) had considered a work of fiction.

Until Forrest came across the painting in an estate sale back in October of 2012.

The picture was of a man named… Dorian Gray.

And the artist who signed the picture was named Basil Hallward.

The painting was of an extremely handsome young man in his early 20s.

Exactly as described in Oscar Wilde’s famous Gothic Philosophical novel of the 19th Century- The Picture of Dorian Gray.

Forrest drew back the purple velvet curtains that covered the painting and hid it from view.

Forrest got the shock of his life when he saw the portrait was empty.

There was no subject in the painting.

Dorian Gray was gone.

. . .

Forrest stared blankly at the blank canvas and blinked.

His smart phone went off.

It was a text message from his friend Amadeus Emanon.

A Set Enterprises satellite over the Bahamas had photographed the eye of the storm of Hurricane Dorian.

And a giant mysterious almost human figure seemed to be standing and moving with the eye of the storm in the hurricane.

Forrest again blinked.

For the figure was the spitting image of Dorian Gray.

The figure now missing from the painting.

-A vampire novel chapter
written by Christopher 
Tuesday September 3rd
2019.


Sibyl: She loved Dorian in vain.

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