Wilder Literature

promise. you smile as i mumble of green horses, my eyes wandering and lustreless. i see them as i have not seen them since the days when i could still laugh.

one green rose sings in the meadow, and the green magpie cocks its puzzled head at me as i fling it a glimmering gold ring. you have haunted me for five and seventy years; now i shall haunt you. promise.

i promise to haunt, terrorise and mentally flay you, till undeath do us part.

like the burn on the table-cloth the vase never quite hides, i shall crawl into your consciousness at odd, unguarded moments, and you shall flail and gibber.

they will think you mad with grief at my passing, you who are cradling the lucent vial of poison-nightshade against your heart as you glide smiling into my chamber. bella donna. how fitting.

i was a bella donna…

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