An interesting dish that includes a spinach and blue cheese mix, which is rolled into a turkey breast. It is then roasted, and served to make up one tasty main course!
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Leather and Lipstick – Part I
A gust of wind blew in from the mouth of the courtyard and turned Clara’s skin turn to gooseflesh. Her training in life taught her how to ignore extremes of heat or cold, all to achieve success. Clara thought back to that time when she was stark naked in the freshly fallen snow. That had been a cold and brutal night, but she nonetheless managed to approach, entice, and dispatch one of them in the process. That dumb bastard was too busy focusing on her tits to wonder why a woman was out in the middle of a battlefield.
This situation was different, ninety-years spent in paradise brought about some skills fade. Clara responded by biting the inside of her cheek and was pleasantly surprised by the taste of her iron-rich blood.
“At least some things haven’t changed,” Clara muttered.
From out of the corner of her eye, Clara caught something unexpected. She turned to investigate, and noticed that one of those boarded up doors from earlier, was not anymore.
As a precaution she stopped, closed her eyes and opened her mouth. While sound carried well at night, doing this honed her senses. Despite her caution, there were no sounds that gave her cause for concern.
“Curiouser and curiouser,” Clara said under her breath.
She headed towards the door, to examine the heavy steel frame, and broken lock before she let herself in. Since her eyes were already adjusted to low light conditions, it was a trivial matter to figure out this store was empty.
This place did have rows of empty racks and shelves that would have been home to garments, shoes, and accessories. Surely a real treasure trove, if it were still open to the public.
“What a shame,” Clara said and paused to see if those words got some attention.
“Size twelve?” Edith asked. “How… possibly be a size twelve… two of me.”
Clara blinked several times in rapid order, all in some misguided attempt to refresh her view. Alas, the place remained deserted, and as judged by a thick layer of dust, it had been for years.
From the opposing corner of the disturbance, a hanger struck the floor, which resounded throughout the room. She focused all of her senses on that spot, but there were no hangers to be found. There were no other sounds, visual cues, changes in temperature, nor did a chill run down her spine.
“Edith?” Clara called out.
Moments later, the sound of foot stomps traversed the room until they came up to the skeleton of an empty change room. Clara then caught the sound of a curtain being drawn, despite there being nothing to move. By now, Clara knew that something was up, although she had to admit the nuances surrounding this situation were entirely new.
This was not the case of an apparition, and the voice was unmistakably Edith’s, at least that much was certain. Along with her witnessing a friend drop to the mortal realm, a theory coalesced within the depths of her mind.
By that time, the sounds were gone, and heard nothing more than her breathing. While Clara was not aware of the mechanics that made this possible, she nonetheless accepted this moment as being grounded in reality.
Of course, that did little to resolve her most pressing problem. A shame there were no curtains left, at least those could have been fashioned into some sort of makeshift robe.
“No rest for the wicked,” Clara said with a sigh.
Disclaimer: This chapter is currently in development. There are likely typos, errors, omissions, inconsistencies and so forth. Please do not treat this as a polished and completed work!
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Morpheus’ Embrace – Part III
Victoria’s eyes fluttered open, but felt there was resistance with every motion. Her senses were numbed, as though she were under constant pressure. For a moment, her mind conjured the image of being cocooned in bundles of warm and thick blankets. While the thought was nice, she quickly dismissed the idea as being far too hopeful.
“If only life were that simple,” Victoria thought.
Her mind quickly focused on the complete absence of light, which corrupted that thought until she imagined herself being buried alive. Victoria wondered if that explained the humidity clinging to her skin, but that analogy did not align either. Her experience was more akin to being immersed.
“Hello?” Victoria tried to ask, but no sound came out.
Victoria sat up as fast as she could, and learned how this viscous liquid also hindered her rate of motion. Since there was nothing to see, she swept her arms all around, but came up empty. Although, she did find out that the floor had the consistency of sand, but wondered how that tidbit of information would prove useful.
“Why are my lungs not burning?” Victoria thought.
That idea opened a crack in her mind, enough for a panic to seep in, she hyperventilated which in turn filled her lungs with more fluid. Wait! What? How? Her mind struggled to come to terms with this new reality. Whatever the gravity of her situation, breathing was no longer a concern for her, or at least for now.
With renewed conviction, she got onto her knees and confirmed there was clearance before standing upright. When another search came up empty, she ventured up ahead.
Eventually, she encountered a flat surface, so her hands ran over the rough texture, to find gaps between the quarried stones. Victoria followed the surface, and realised this wall formed a circle, one filled with something thicker than water. It did not take much after that to hazard a guess. So that meant she was at the bottom of that well?
If that’s where she was, then that scene with Evelyn had been nothing more than a dream. Either way, that insight did nothing to explain her predicament.
“Unless—,” Victoria attempted to say once again, but to no avail.
The viscosity of the fluid made it impossible for her vocal cords to resonate. Hence the silence, which left her to wonder what would happen to her if she remained down here in absolute solitude.
To confirm her whereabouts, Victoria looked up. Sure enough, there was a faint source of light, and from this vantage point, it looked like a single red star lighting up the dim sky. Again, how would this help her get out of this mess.
“How long—How do I—Can I climb—” Victoria’s chaotic mind wondered.
Such questions were cycling through her mind so fast, that it prevented her from focusing on a single task. Once again panic took hold, and invaded every corner of her being, until it consumed her.
Victoria screamed, her noiseless act of defiance somehow created a protective barrier that kept the conflicting voices in her mind at bay. As she let out all of that frustration, fear and doubt melted away, until all that remained, was raw untapped determination.
She poked and prodded the walls of her cell, and found the spaces were wide enough to get a good grip. It may not have been enough to climb a steep cliff, but when supported by a liquid that imbued her with some additional buoyancy, the conditions for an ascent were suddenly favourable.
Her first attempt caused her fingers to radiate in pain. Victoria had forgotten how her failed attempt to arrest that descent had torn off her fingernails.
It was ultimately that maelstrom of thoughts and emotions that permitted her pain to return, which in turn caused her to tumble down. The slow descent into the soft sand may have left her no worse for wear, but in her mind, the pain brought on was on par with running into a wall. With a silent grunt she got off her rump and attempted another ascent.
With every attempt, the damage to her fingers grew worse, until it blinded all other stimulus. The pain served to focus her, to drive her, but she was also motivated by fear of losing her sanity, if she stayed down here for long. How could anyone keep it together, when under the exclusive company of their thoughts?
Writers were normally content to be left alone. Free to find inspiration in mundane occurrences, like a sunrise, moments that the bulk of humanity took for granted. But to remain alone in the dark, summarily deprived of the bulk of her senses? There were limits to creativity, times when the wellspring of inspiration would run dry, and left behind a world bereft of ideas.
Condemned to suffer like that for all of eternity, Victoria could think of only one word that fit, “Hell.”
After countless attempts and hours wasted, Victoria’s hand pierced the pool’s surface. The cool air made her skin tingle, the first positive sensation she experienced since her awakening.
Excitement welled inside her, and that grew in intensity once she dragged her tired body out from the pool. While there were no mirrors in this perverted chapel, Victoria imagined herself looking very much like Carrie did during her graduation ceremony.
It took all of her strength to lift her remaining leg from out of the pool. Victoria had the strangest feeling that the pool was holding her. So much so, that she needed to expend what was left of her sheer force of will to tear herself from it.
“Well—,” Victoria tried to say, but only managed to spew out fluid from her lungs.
Victoria got on her hands and knees just in time to convulse. Every muscle in her core contracted and relaxed at a fantastical rate. With every wave, a stream of fluid was evacuated until she was able to take her first deep breath.
She looked up towards the stunning fresco that covered the ceiling as tears streamed down her cheeks from all that pain and exertion. For a second, she saw a crescent moon overlooking the crucified body of Christ. Her mind, instead focused on the stale humid air filled with death instead, despite the poor air quality, the pleasure of breathing air once more was nothing short of rapturous.
Alas, with her first deep breath came a coughing fit, all in an effort to clear out any remaining pockets of fluid. These coughs were so violent, that her vision was marred by streaks, and every fit sapped her strength until she was no longer able to move.
In tears, and beyond the point of exhaustion her body gave up. Before her vision blurred, and faded to black, she caught sight of a passage etched at the edges of the ceiling.
“Fides dominaretur super oram chlamydis Saul,” Victoria whispered.
The words meant nothing to her, but once unconscious, her lips moved to the following phrase, “Faith shall dominate the usurper.”
Disclaimer: This chapter is currently in development. There are likely typos, errors, omissions, inconsistencies and so forth. Please do not treat this as a polished and completed work!
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Laura Smith Reviews the Van Helsing Paradox
I came across a lovely 3🌟 review for the Van Helsing Paradox by Laura Smith. While there are a few points of critique, this review has a lot positive things to say about my story!
Review of the Van Helsing Paradox by Laura Smith In my opinion, the reviewer nailed the overall feel of the novel with the line below. Namely, that the Van Helsing Paradox was written with a focus on key elements in Clara’s life.
Chartres weaves an imaginative tale about a whip-smart, ruthless, and level-headed vampire killer laid out in an anthology of missions.
Laura Smith does mention the modern voice in this novel. That’s a fair point, considering the book was written specifically to have a modern voice. While a lexicon was included to help with the Roaring Twenties slang that was used sparingly, the intent was to add spice to the prose, not mimic the style of the era.
She does end off in a positive note!
Overall, it is a brutal, intriguing story that would appeal to any vampire fan.
Thank you so much Laura Smith for your honest review!
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Morpheus’ Embrace – Part II
“All done!” Victoria exclaimed
She ripped the page from the drum of her antique typewriter, and placed it neatly upon the fresh stack. Her muse was back, and this new material would keep her creative juices flowing for the foreseeable future.
Victoria leaned back, and heard the familiar creak from the chair. She looked into the fire as it crackled happily while its flames danced, and left her momentarily entranced. Victoria thought about the hours spent looking at the beauty of those flames and found it hard to imagine how all of that was about to change.
A lot of things had changed in short order, with more to deal with in the upcoming years. This time there was a guide; someone to lead her, and Victoria hoped their relationship would grow like it had for Evelyn and Marc. It was her wish that she would not only call Evelyn a friend, but consider her to be a sister, albeit a deceptively older one.
A smile appeared on her face, once she heard a knock at the door. She excitedly, jumped over the corpse of the building’s doorman to answer it. How unfortunate that he needed to be dealt with in such a manner. Unfortunately, he had been far too inquisitive about her return, and his bothersome insistence on calling the authorities only sealed his fate.
At least he was delicious, and still remembered the ecstasy experienced from draining the life from him. The essence of his life now flowed through her veins, it invigorated her, but that now came with the faint smell of his decomposing corpse. When she opened the door, Evelyn greeted her and kissed Victoria tenderly.
“You have been naughty, non?” Evelyn asked with a giggle, and licked the last of his blood from Victoria’s lips.
Victoria blushed, but Evelyn said nothing more on this matter. One’s first kill was a personal matter, as were the emotional and psychological repercussions. That had been the way for Evelyn, and that would be the same for any of Victoria’s progeny. Corpses did pose a problem, but there were ways to make people disappear. One did not live long in this day and age without having a few tricks up their sleeve.
Victoria turned her attention to the fire before noticing that Evelyn was different somehow. There was something about her attire, which was better suited to a formal New Year’s ball. Her suspicions were confirmed when Evelyn slipped her hand into a bag, and pulled a beautiful porcelain mask. At first, she imagined this mask to represent some wild beast, just like those described in her writings. Instead, it turned out to be the perfect porcelain reproduction of Evelyn’s face.
“Sometimes the truth is far more monstrous than fiction ma chère,” Evelyn said.
To that, Victoria agreed. Predators did not hide their true intentions, their motives were plainly governed by their genetics. While a growl and teeth could elicit primal fear, people were in far greater danger when such traits were hidden by the thin veneer of civility.
“Now come!” Evelyn shouted, while she glided over the uniformed corpse. “We have to introduce you to the family, and I assure you that their masks will not be as obvious as mine.”
With a smile, her mentor walked into the hallway and left Victoria to clean up before following suit. On her way out, Victoria left the fire a well-deserved gift for being her kindest critic, and biggest fan. She was certain the flames would happily consume this final token of her appreciation. Just as she closed the door, never to return, the flames spread over the cover page and left only the line The Portrait visible.
In the hallway, she heard Evelyn say in those musical tones, “In case you are wondering. Marc will be the one wearing a mask representing a dire wolf… Though he will be doing so grudgingly!”
All the while, Victoria thought back to what she wrote long ago, and said, “Remember, what lies underneath, is by far more frightening.”
Disclaimer: This chapter is currently in development. There are likely typos, errors, omissions, inconsistencies and so forth. Please do not treat this as a polished and completed work!
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Morpheus’ Embrace – Part I
It was a couple of hours since the incident, and the lab was still in complete disarray. Half of the false flooring was gone, removed to access the fusion generators below. Test equipment and tools littered what little was left of the floor space, which confined Breanna to her station. Fortunately, she kept busy by running system diagnostics while keeping an eye on their remaining power reserves.
The North wall, farthest away from the exit, had been scorched black after a fire broke out at one of the associated workstations. Fortunately, emergency power had been restored by that time, so the integrated fire suppression systems dealt with the threat before the lab turned into a crematorium.
“I told you to check the polarity!” Mason yelled.
Brett just glared at the team leader, and avoided making eye contact with Breanna who was snickering at the outburst. These generators were his pride and joy, and knew their designs intimately, he should not have been second guessed.
“I’ve maintained these generators for the past twenty-five years,” Brett said.
“So?” Mason asked.
“So I’m sure the power bypass is compatible with our systems,” Brett said in all honesty.
For now they were at an impasse. Mason was also aware that the polarity, phase, and the voltage at the tap was compatible. The generators alternate feed was designed to provide long-term auxiliary power, that was their primary function. So why did they nearly blow out the power grid in the attempt? They needed auxiliary power to restart the generators, only then would they have stable power.
Breanna cleared her throat to get the men’s attention. Both of them looked up from the mess of wires and circuits to focus on their counterpart. Brett was clearly annoyed by the distraction, while Mason seemed relieved for the opportunity to focus on something else.
“This service manual for the Mister Fusion Mark Twelve Bravo says…” Breanna said, before she paused to decipher the schematics. “That you should have tapped after the converter to get the correct polarity.”
The men turned to one another, and collectively shrugged. Now that was downright odd, since what she reported did not match what either knew to be true.
“We have a Mark Twelve Alpha,” Mason finally said as a way to avoid escalating tensions.
“Yeah,” Brett said. “Bravo’s are fitted on interstellar craft, not ground installations.”
Breanna shrugged and quickly tapped on her dimly lit console. The systems were scaling back their processing power as reserves dwindled. This trend would continue until they established auxiliary power.
“Wait one,” Breanna said while the query ran in the foreground. “The system’s firmware pings back as a Bravo.”
“No way!” Brett yelled.
Breanna turned around so fast that the men flinched. Her eyes darted in their direction, sized them up before looking away slowly and sighed. She then rubbed her temples in an effort to calm down. Breanna may not have been born a redhead, but she clearly embraced that particular stereotype.
“You want to come up here and check?” Breanna challenged.
Mason cringed and thought it best to say, “Why don’t you check the tally plates, Brett.”
The request coming from Mason managed to diffuse the situation. Brett disappeared from sight, since getting to those plates required him to squeeze by two industrial capacitors, followed by hugging the outer casing to avoid making contact with exposed circuits.
“Fuck!” Brett yelled, although the sound was muffled by the surrounding equipment.
“Everything good?” Mason asked.
“No!” Brett exclaimed just as he lit a red filtered torch. “I just ran into a high capacity power conduit.”
For a man who insisted he knew these generators intimately, that certainly raised a slew of questions. One did not just forget the location of power transmission lines, because inadvertent contact when the system was operational meant disintegration.
Minutes later, the red light bled out into the room followed by Brett. It gave the man a certain demonic look, despite the wide eyes and soft features that were trademarks of those humbled.
“Mister Fusion Mark Twelve…” Brett said. “Bravo,” he whispered.
Mason cocked an eyebrow once that information hit him. His memories were clearly aligned with Brett’s. In fact, he would have bet his life on it. No matter, his bruised ego could be addressed at a later time, and for now they needed power.
“How long will it take you to establish a power bypass?” Mason asked.
Brett sighed, then looked up towards Breanna. His shoulders were slumped and his face was crestfallen. It was clear that he did not take well to being proved wrong.
“I don’t know,” Brett replied. “I’ll have to consult the technical manuals to provide an assessment.”
“So safe to say that you’ll need at least four hours?” Mason asked.
“Safe to say,” Brett responded. “Yes.”
Mason turned to Breanna and said, “Does that phone of yours still work?”
Breanna withdrew the device from the depths of her lab coat. She tapped on the surface, and on command the screen came to life, so she nodded.
“We are going to be here a while—,” Mason said.
“On it,” Breanna said in haste, seeing how she could stand to eat as well.
Breanna flew past the apps and menus until she neared the entry she sought. At least, that had been her intent, but the Chinese restaurant she sought was not listed. Odd, since she passed it just this morning, and the memory of that fried rice wafting from out of their exhaust, was enough to make her salivate.
“It’s not there?” Breanna asked.
“What do you mean?” Mason queried in return.
“General Chang’s Lucky Wok,” Breanna said. “Doesn’t show on Scroogle or even on Street Peeper.”
“I loved that place!” Brett whined.
Mason stepped back, and immediately latched onto a solid object, to avoid falling in between the equipment. Distractions in this current situation were ill advised, but these disconnects from reality were making it more likely.
Was the group’s collective memory faulty? Not only once, but twice now? Or was there something else at play they had yet to consider?
“What’s there now?” Mason asked.
Breanna spread her fingers over the screen to zoom in on the sign and answered, “King of Donair.”
“What’s a donair?” the men asked.
Mason was tired of this, so he hopped skipped and jumped through the gaps, until he reached the exit. Once he pressed the button, he expected to hear the airlock equalise pressure. Instead, the door slid open to reveal a storage closet.
“What the fuck!” Mason swore.
Disclaimer: This chapter is currently in development. There are likely typos, errors, omissions, inconsistencies and so forth. Please do not treat this as a polished and completed work!
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Chicken Tetrazzini with Roasted Red Peppers
(more…)
A straight-forward recipe that combines noodles, chicken, mushrooms, cream, sherry, and red peppers to create a ready-to-serve dish. This cream based dish is sure to be a crowd pleaser!
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Bleed Through – Part IV
“I love you!” Edith shouted before she closed her eyes and fell to earth.
Angela had trouble focusing on the scene. Her vision marred by tears that streamed off her burning cheeks. Even her nose ran like a sieve, and normally that annoyed her, but this time she was too distraught to care.
“How could she?” Angela wondered even though the answer was obvious.
Edith wasn’t the kind of person to stand back and let others risk their lives. Even if doing so risked her own life on several occasions. That was Edith’s greatest strength, one shared by many saints.
“How can I hate her for that?” Angela asked herself.
She closed her eyes and then used some of her limited training from the Tower to focus. As her self-control began to reassert itself, the wave of anguish and anxiety began to wane.
“I’m good now” Angela said as her eyes opened.
Edith was no longer visible by then, gone along with that shockwave originating from the mortal realm. Her heart sank to the bottom of her stomach, but she did her best to remain centred. What good was she to anyone as an emotional wreck?
From the corner of her eye, Angela caught the glimpse of a pale brunette hovering over the mortal realm. Despite the woman being roughly thirty years older than she remembered, Angela knew exactly who this was.
“Clara!” Angela exclaimed.
The woman did not respond, instead she closed her eyes, and just like Edith before her, dropped like a rock.
“What’s going on?” Angela yelled out.
“Is there a problem, child?” Gabriel asked.
Angela turned around to find the archangel Gabriel facing her, which immediately explained why he referred to her as a child. Only those who came into existence as angels were capable of seeing a soul’s true form.
“Did you come back for something?” Angela asked while dispensing with any civility.
“Child?” Gabriel asked.
“You left the moment Edith dropped to Earth,” Angela replied.
Gabriel was like an immutable statue, a trait that was common among the natives. It was so frustrating to bare your soul, and see no empathy reflected in the recipient. Her frustration with their kind provided an unexpected reprieve, so Angela channelled this emotion to gain some focus.
“Edith?” Gabriel asked. “Edith was never here.”
That statement almost threw Angela for a loop, but a part of her was expecting to hear such a response. The appearance of Clara from out of the ether did much to lay the groundwork for a working theory. Clearly there was something wrong, but she had no way of proving it.
“Apologies,” Angela said. “I meant to say Clara.”
Gabriel did not respond, although a hiccup in his movement caught her eye. For a fraction of a second, Gabriel had been facing away from her. The movement had been so fast that any ill-timed blink would have meant missing the clue.
“Edith will… shortly… I’m sure,” Gabriel said, even though his lips never moved.
The words appeared to have reverberated from off of some invisible structure. While uncertain of the source, she knew it did not originate from the depths of her mind. Angels were not known to have that ability, besides that sort of communication was experienced differently.
After the hiccup ended Gabriel said, “Clara will be back shortly.”
“I’m sure,” they said in unison.
While Gabriel remained unperturbed by her guess, it did little to help Angela’s state of mind. At this very moment, her heart was migrating from the pit of her stomach to the very tips of her toes. Perhaps she should have been more studious back at the Tower. If only Edith had not been so beautiful.
“Please come back to me,” Angela pleaded before rhyming off a quick prayer that she hoped was heard.
Disclaimer: This chapter is currently in development. There are likely typos, errors, omissions, inconsistencies and so forth. Please do not treat this as a polished and completed work!
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Dua Reviews The Portrait
I came across a 3🌟 review for The Portrait from Goodreads Librarian Dua, a story that is near and dear to her heart. It’s honest, and at times even brutally so, mentioning aspects of that story that I’ve been concerned about for some time now. However, it goes a long way to show the progress I’ve made since then.
A review of The Portrait by Dua Authors need to start somewhere, and it’s often tempting to go back to out previous works and rewrite. After all, this is the story about Evelyn Chartres, a character that is near and dear to my heart. Dua even mentions Evelyn specifically in her review.
Oh and Evelyn… I loved Evelyn.
Still, if I continually went back to my earlier works, chances are that The Grand, The Van Helsing Paradox and its upcoming sequels would be nothing more than conceptual. So I choose to take these types of reviews to heart, and hope these concerns have been addressed in future releases.
This book also differs greatly from the others, since it delves into the mind of an author Victoria Frost, who takes up writing after the death of her parents. The character set it limited, as is the dialogue, since most of the story takes place inside her head. That aspect goes a long way to explain the stream of questions in the book, since it denotes her chaotic thought patterns.
She did appreciate how I weaved art into the prose, since this book focuses on the author’s vision of a particular painting hanging in some nondescript gallery. Of note, art is also core to Evelyn’s own identity.
The art, in its many forms, is an important part of the book, almost like a character on its own, and I loved how it was woven throughout the story.
So thank you Dua for your honest review! I hope that you will delve into my later works, and discover how I evolved as a writer.
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Bleed Through – Part III
“I love you,” Edith said as her thoughts faded back into reality.
“I’ve always known,” Angela replied. “How else could you summon me from beyond the grave to warn a friend?”
“I could have joined you that day,” Edith said. She took Angela’s hand and pressed it against her chest, “We could have been in each other’s arms far sooner.”
“It wasn’t your time,” Angela said just as reality began to reassert itself.
Angela giggled before she grabbed Edith by the hand, and dragged her through the park until they reached a series of steps.
“Why are you taking me here?” Edith asked.
Angela turned back for a moment, careful with her steps to avoid tripping and said, “I know you love it there.”
“Why would you think that?” Edith asked out of curiosity.
Angela did not say another word until they reached the top of the steps. From there, it opened up to an observation deck, where someone could see the mortal realm.
“I’ve seen you here before,” Angela said.
Edith looked around, and saw that they were alone. That in itself was not unusual, there was something to be said about seeing the world that contained both the beauty, and pain of life. It was simultaneously a reminder on how sweet the fruit of life had been, and that one would never again partake. Very few chose to go through that torment, although she often felt compelled to do so.
“I know that you come here,” Angela added.
“You’ve been following me?” Edith asked with a smile.
“Of course!” Angela exclaimed before she kissed her lovers cheek.
“Good girl,” Edith replied with reddened cheeks.
Edith did come here on a regular basis to stare down at the world. At first, she did not know what compelled her, but in time she came to understand the reasons. While Angela had been her first love, there were others who had awoken similar affections, including another hunter of great renown.
“Clara Grey was it?” Angela asked.
That name brought a smile to her lips, the mere mention of that name was like casting a spell that let loose, all those cherished memories. Edith would have gone through hell and back for her, and to this day had no clue what had happened to her.
“How—How did you—,” Edith tried to ask.
“Know?” Angela asked. “She was the one you summoned me to find. The one who saved your life that day.”
“I’m impressed,” Edith repeated with a grin.
Edith kissed Angela with such passion that her lover’s legs nearly gave out. For a moment, nothing else in existence mattered, save those lips. Oh how she longed to stop time, and make this moment last an eternity.
Alas even in this realm, time moved at a predictable rate. When she opened her eyes, Edith gazed inadvertently towards the mortal realm. There was a certain beauty to God’s creation, even though atrocities happened daily. That notion alone was enough to make someone wonder if free will had been a good idea.
At this moment, the North-American continent featured prominently. In her search for Clara, she would peer down through the clouds, searching for clues on her friend’s passage. Every attempt proved fruitless, Clara would have been over one-hundred-and-twenty years old by now. There was no chance that she was still alive at that age. Or was there?
Then from the Eastern seaboard, she witnessed a shockwave that expanded outward until it enveloped the Earth. The disturbance caught her eye, and broke from the kiss to focus on the event.
Confused, Edith said, “That’s odd.”
Disclaimer: This chapter is currently in development. There are likely typos, errors, omissions, inconsistencies and so forth. Please do not treat this as a polished and completed work!
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