A Mandrake's Gesture: Vol Ii.

The maiden's nipples swollen, her bosom flush with excitement, hailing her goddess as she slighted very eloquently, puissant. The goodness they shared was of sinful reproach, a somber obedience of lovers' admiration. The dusk laden sky flickered with prose, the sorrows of Belial's romance of lost mysteries and his vengeant domineer, his bravado, his masculinity, cascading like spirals of chaos and the chimes of instilled darkness climaxing to the sojourn of forbidden pleasures. Gently now, Belial eased this fair lady to her lover's demand, her patience swelling between her thighs, burning. . . eternally. - - - - I. Awoken from a dream, a fair common was she, her beauty unsurpassed only by her soulful demeanor and natural prelude. Her femininity and subtle prowess always the victor, her passion a hearkening rose upon a lonely desolate scorn. Her feelings a bit feverish, there now, nothingness and the harlots of misery and the massacre of saintliness. The venom there pulsing now, was evermore raspy, and only to the delight of our royal antiquities, vespers of envy, of anger's delight, of beckoning glee, a madman's exuberation to the deafening hysterias of mischief's vertigo. A marriage. . . arranged, a stiffening King to his Prince's triumph over darkness. Yes, this common peasant and her divine bounty was as a peril of Eve searching for her lost Eden. There being no more reprise, bitter, for her burden, she was to share. Somber eyes and a broom for everyone to take hold. Yes, the beauty of a fair maiden this, so vast and of such masterful drab, splendor to all of the shared treasures in spirits. Rage! A taunting basilisk, enslaying our vat of christendom and devotion. To this day, of prayerful morn, maiden Geinere, awoke, scarlet fever.