Wednesday, October 04, 2006
Blood-curdling... -- Part 6
In a fit of pique, Haggis began to trample on and stomp her snakes, luring them close with promises of publishers, agents, and editors.
Those who followed Haggis blindly believed her and were promptly stomped into the dirt floor of Haggis's castle. Haggis waited in vain for the elation of her stomping fits to overcome her, make her feel better, perhaps validate her existence but, alas, it did not. Rather than an adrenaline rush, all she got for her efforts was a dark cloud of depression -- for there were others in the land whom Haggis yearned to stomp but who were far too intelligent to venture into her lair.
Her anger was great, her resentment a foul black cancer consuming her from within. She was forced to content herself with a dominion of slick, slithering snakes on whom she could not rely. She had woven a spell to compel Dedman's return to her side, but he was of little solace to the tortured witch. He was good for certain unspeakable rituals, but little else.
Haggis did not eat, did not bathe, did not leave the castle other than on the nights of the full moon. She became wary of lying down to sleep for fear that the treacherous snakes would bite her unto death or choke the life from her as she slept, and she would perforce go for weeks without rest. As time passed, Haggis's never pretty visage began to show the deleterious effects of her dark environs.