Ruins. NEW

  Tattoo.
  A New Day Dawns
  He's His Father's Son
  A Study in WhiteMdNgt
  Stepping Down.
  A Night at the Emporium.
  Late Night Delivery
  Remodelling.
  And YOU missed it..
  Nok-Nok
  "I know pain."
  Dawn's Arrival
  The Angels
    »The Becoming
    »Manifestations
  Roses As A Gift
  Crucifixion of a Prophet
  The Uncrating
  from "A Study in Roses"
  Hesitant Visit
  A stroll around the Estate
  Shadow Phone
  Plucked.
  The story related...
  Tortugory
  Can I Get A Witness
  A sister remembered.


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Subject: The Becoming...
From: DecayAngel@aol.com (DecayAngel)
Date: Thu,31 Jul 97 03:20:14 EDT

The Ruiner

Shadows whispered pretty lies against a backdrop of night and twinkling stars. He used to look at them, long ago in a fairy tale of Cinderella's heartbreak and Decay. Once. His doll face was still, almost seren; paper mache tainted eyes screaming atrocity as they reguarded the blanket of twinkling jewels (They were so very like Promises, always present to comfort and remind, yet just out of reach. Broken.). Thin lips painted a taint of souless black turned up in silent smile. Empty thoughts tumbled through his processes (never ending and machine-like) like a tempest. Soft breezes carved past, carressing...erasing...He is the Killing Machine of Blood Red Rose...

Bleeding Stitch

Bathed and cloaked (The shadows and he clung like lovers naked beneath the scrutiny of moon light.), he traversed the silent halls, ghost-like. His soul bled forth from so many jagged holes, though roughly stitched with barbed-wire and strands of pleasure. It seeped through his fingertips and trickled from his hollow eyes, screaming agony with the persistance of a drowning child.

Razored boots butchered the air as he slid past, lacerations of suffering and insanity left in his wake like a scent-trail. His head swiveled, tendons straining visibly beneath a tight husk of pale skin. Tendrils of charcoal flailed, spiked and wetted, before his facial curves. Clearly visible upon the back of his shaven skull as he drifted was the word 'REPENT' in Gothic print.

...The night air itself seemed to rip and tear wide open as he passed, oozing its slimy essence and shedding an air of sweet nothingness. Soft, razorblade breaths marked his presence and passing, echoing down the hall. Fragments of his being.

Tendrils of shadow erupted from the floor boards in a tempest of silent movement, embracing...engulfing. The column of darkness stretched high, raking to scrape the ceiling before whithering upon itself, collapsing and folding.

...And he was gone with it...


Subject: Shimmering darkness...
From: BIdRedRose@aol.com (BIdRedRose)
Date: Fri, 1 Aug 97 00:28:01 EDT

Like new blood slick on an opened welt, those lush, sanguine lips pout with regret, as she feels his very presence elude her... a brief charging of the crypt-cold air in her private chamber, a thousand voices whispering chaos, speaking in tongues, then silenced... by the greedy shroud of shadows...

But she knows where he's going, this divine angel of... mercy...

A glimpse of fleshy pink, as her tongue darts out to the corner of that crimson bow, as though straining for a taste of the coming agony before its sweetness has even blossomed into the air...

Torment is her joy...

"Giddy, foolish children," she hisses, that viper's whisper carried on a frigid, hollow breeze through the earthen-walled vault...

She feasts on a diet of sin, and degradation...

Sinewy curves ripple across the surface of the jewelled coverlet, as she writhes on her belly, the spiderweb mesh catching against stitchery and stones... her gloved hands curl over the bed's edge, and she turns that sculpted cheek, of alabaster velvet, to nuzzle against the jagged spread...

Misery is her most precious company...

Her eyes sparkle with a dark dementia... or is it merely the reflection of dischordant candlelight in emerald glass?... only her banshee's grin knows...