"You have no idea what the shit happened yesterday."
He had been talking. Like since forever. He had no reason he shouldn't. He was very annoyed. His rage could trace sanity across the bark of his consciousness. He was very vexed. His instinct had been smothered. He tried as much as possible not to make himself sad, but that was all to no avail. He tried to keep his head cool but he was but pawn to his felon feelings. He actually wasn't going to fight that feeling. He needn't fight it. He was going to keep nursing it. That was the best thing to do at that moment and he was already on it.
He felt betrayed. Who wouldn't? The Nymph who had raped him, lived under his own roof, even if twas borrowed, it was none of her goddamn business?. Why would such Nymph take side with Ja Lia of all people. He didn't want to think about it, but he couldn't help the urg
"Call me the mistress." That was the appropriate name he could call her. He hadn't thought of another name. He couldn't had used any other. What would he had said? His expectations were severed. He wasn't king over them. He was to make a chain of choices and that of course who make a mole outta a molehill. Probably when she arrived he'd fleshen his contention. But he knew he'd want more from her. Probably feed his pored pleasure. Or when had he become a grievous sin to suit what was made right to the sewn sense? Probably some religious codes wouldn't cowtow. But that didn't matter to him. There were more things to revere. Two days ago, he'd gotten to the fort in a haste to ascertain whether or not truly she'd locate it. Getting to the fort, he'd asked some of the gladiators who he accosted if a strange or new lady came to the fort. Or whether or not the
"Hell kiss you." He didn't know whether or not to believe his eyes. He was very mad. Not like crazy. But in no time he could merge the two maladies and be crazily mad. He needed to be sure of what he was seeing. But he could not fathom why that could be true. Somethings are simply meant to be illusions. They have no rights to be featured into the rustic reality. He feared to believe his instinct, but there was nothing better to believe in. He didn't know whether or not to cowtow and that was the Genesis of his confusion. He wouldn't be wrapped up by contention, but would let the scene sink. What was the crazy Nymph doing there? How did she enter the house? Who invited her? Who did she think she was? What guts had severed her reason that she thought she could mar and make at her choice? It seemed as though he had an answer to the second question. Of cou
. "You came firstly as an Angel. Well of course I thought. No, twas like a demon. No, more of a prisoner. Arrrgh, like a stranger. Yes, a stranger. It seemed different. I couldn't have thought of it less. I couldn't have thought of it more. You were introduced with anxiety but you're more than that. Ah! What kinda creature are you? What kinda of toilet are you? Who in the fuck name are you? Who made you a stray hound? Who strayed you? When will I get the grasp of everything? Why make a fool of everyone you meet?. Even if you are not here; who gives a fuck. You're damn the worst traitor I've ever and will ever know. You're worst than an infidel. And I'll be patient enough. I'll be patient to kill you. I'll be patient to have you dead. I'll be patient to make confetti of your rage and pride. I'll make you a fool of time and will. You'll feel your heart (if you have one) wanting to leave your body and of course, I'll be there to mock you. I'll be there to smother you p
"Ahh. Why is he lain like the slave of death?" He moved closer to him. His staff was his eyes. His eyes had no reconciliation with light. Lanky light had pored them that one for the other did not know what to do or say. He'd been like that since forever and gloom had began to appeal to his senses. Seeing the rays of his gloom pleased him than seeing the rays of the eyes of the apt azure. He'd learnt to make sound of the calm. Learnt to make awe of the sane. He'd learnt to make rage of the cool. He was no exception as the cod. Only that he was blinded by nature, the Cod, by rage. He moved closer. His instinct had told him before his eyes. He had had it in mind to go into the hut, but he'd halted by the oak tree. He'd felt a pulpy presence there. He knew that he needed to stop and of course he did. He'd danced his staffs towards the root of the tree. Well, he'd missed. He tried again. He missed. But he wouldn't give up. His instinct was strong. He knew when a human was some
"What spell had you in such state?" Those words struggled to have a stance as his legs. He had no idea how stoic that man was and could be. There were obviously quite the number of things he was missing out on and he wouldn't mind whether or not they made sense. Of course if they made sense, they would appeal to his sense, but that was not the convention at the moment. The contention was more than what he could knuckle under at that moment. His patience was beginning to soothe his rage. He didn't know what art that was. He wouldn't care though. All that mattered was the fact that he was becoming sane for few moments. He turned properly at that moment and saw the man helping himself to his feet. His words actually had been stronger, smarter and faster than the legs. He didn't know where to start with regarding the answer to his question. Of course he'd give a comeback to it but he needed to be sure how to wield the words. That didn't actually matter at that moment. Of cour
"Unkrhh" That was from her. She'd been walking since the past 20 minutes and it seemed to her as though she was flying. Of course she could had disappeared to the Monarch's castle, but of course not, she'd walk. She decided to walk. It'd been a while since she had taken a walk from her place to other places; for quite the tiring journey though. Her limbs were light as though they were made of air. She could cover eight paces at a time. Who knew? Probably she could contend with any wild cat in race. She entered the village of the Cod. His hut was the first thing in sight. Of course it was. Anyone who would walk into the village must pass through his hut. Well, if such would take some apt alakazam, such even wouldn't need to step on the soil of the village but the earth of whoever such would visit. She walked briskly as though she was tamed by so
"What would you love to take?" "Caution and my message." Probably she didn't get it correctly. Probably she made a stray of the semantic denotations. Probably her acumen was quite in a haste to process the meaning of the words he had tossed to them. He couldn't really be sure of what to think. He had no idea when Caution and Message had became food. If she had gotten him correctly, of course she would had said some loaves of Barley and halves of venisons. She could probably order for wine or water. But hmmm hmm, she hadn't ordered for such. The Monarch needed to be sure again. "Of food, I mean." "Verrily. Two bowls of caution, and a bottle of message." Of course the Monarch was
"His mercy be pruned." She was already out of the castle. Out of the Monarch's castle. Out of the Monarch's rusty rage. And she could feel that. Not the rage, nor freedom but the sense of peace. She felt good. Really good. She always did. Her sense of pain had been pored evenly and she was a product of whatever she saw or saw. The dark dust of her actions most times foiled her vision, but she had learnt to manage them. She had learnt to make rage of them. And she'd learnt to make confetti of whoever was present when she plied such rotten route. Ah! She was a stray of wit. That lad should be there. Of course she had told him to meet her at the Monarch's castle. Probably he had never stuck to taunting time. Probably he was a by product of assumptions of lured lateness. She would take everything but those. She looked through the plain before the castle. F