The wedding bells of the church were still ringing when the dark wooden gate of the mansion opened. Damyan entered the place and, with a snap, the gate closed at his back. He pushed the young girl that was walking by his hand towards a chair and walked to the chimney. The bright red flames illuminated his face as he started to chuckle evilly. His plans were in motion.

At his back, the girl sat on the chair. She was young, very young. The fact that was only fourteen did not spare her from marriage once her father had given her away to Lord Damyan Amerthy. She stood up, pulled the humongous white skirt until she was able to sit comfortably, and looked around. Damyan placed a hand on the frame of the chimney, contemplating his future actions, when she spoke. “So… did you marry me as part of a bigger scheme, or are you just some sort of pervert?”

“What?” he asked, visibly confused.

“Yeah, you know… I mean, I’m young but not that naive”, she retorted. “Many older men like you think on marrying a young noble girl like me out of lust, but just to be clear… it’s not like I’m going to let you. Understood?”.

“How dare you, Angelica!” he yelled, offense echoing in each word. “I would never do such a thing!”

“So… classic evil plot. I’m sorry if I offended you, I had to ask, maybe now I can remove this thing”. She tapped with her knuckles on her hip, making a metallic sound. “Oh”, murmured Damyan, understanding what she was hiding under the wedding dress. “So, tell me, what was the point of blackmailing my father to give my hand in marriage then? You have quite a reputation: scams, use of mercenaries, assassinations, torture…”

“It’s… too complex for a young lady like yourself. Now begone and stop bothering me!”

He turned back to stare the fire, his mood somehow killed by Angelica. To Lord Damyan Amerthy’s surprise, her new wed wife started laughing softly, rapidly increasing to a loud laughter. “What are you laughing at!?”, he requested, stepping towards her menacingly.

“That’s brilliant! I mean, I have been involved in devilish plots since I was four! Blackmailed? Thrice. Kidnapped? Twice. Sold as a slave? Once. Assassination attempts? Four. My hand given into marriage without my consent? Five times. You should know that I allowed this wedding to happen”. She stood up, ignoring Damyan’s threat, and walked towards a great window. She looked to the city outside while she continued. “If I have to guess, I’d say your plan is to dethrone my father, he’s the Count of Mornalia, after all. But if he was, for instance, assassinated, his position would be inherited by my brother. So I guess you have planned for that, right?”

Damyan, recovering his composure, walked slowly towards her. He twisted his mustache, standing right next to Angelica and watching the city as she did. Below them, the party of their wedding was still raging. “Yes. I have planned for that. You almost sound like you want them dead”.

“My father? Yeah, he’s always used me. ‘It’s your duty, to serve this country’, it’s your fault you got kidnapped again’, he’s a bastard. Not my brother, though, I’d be happy enough if he was sent far away never to come back”.

“That can be arranged…”

“Use my aunt” she interrupted. “Aunt Ophelia always wanted my father’s throne. You just need to leave some evidence pointing to her. Use this”, she said as she removed a hair locker from her head, her long blonde hair falling around her round and beautiful face. “I stole it from her years ago, it was a gift from my grandmother to aunt Ophelia. Anyone knowing the family will recognize it as hers”.

Damyan took the hair locker, impressed with the young girl’s determination. But she continued. “By the way, my father loves to go out hunting each Sunday. It’s the perfect moment”.

“Well, I’ll be damned” retorted Damyan. “I was not informed you were such a… proactive young lady”.

She laughed softly. “Oh, please. Who would suspect of the youngest, cute, blonde little daughter of count Morgan?” she answered, looking at her with very trained puppy eyes. “Nobility is a dangerous world to grow into. You either adapt, perish or live the rest of your life as some noble’s puppy wife. To hell with that”.

They stood like this, watching the sun set without saying a word for several minutes. “So, my dear wife, what is it you desire in life? Why did you allow this wedding to happen?”

“I want to be feared”.

She walked away to the chimney. Her semblance was serious and, for the first time, Damyan saw in her look a pained expression. Blond curls falling in front of her face that he did not try to remove, the experience of a life no child should ever have reflected on her green eyes.

“I want to be feared”, she repeated. “But not because I’m your wife: I want the world to know my name, I want my enemies, everyone who ever wronged me whisper my name afraid that I may hear them. I don’t want anyone to try to manipulate or use me again. So, when you asked my hand in marriage, I knew this was my chance”. She looked at him and, despite her short stature, despite being a cute, blond and thin girl, something in the way she looked at him made him know she was dead serious. “Do not be fooled, Damyan: if you try to use or abuse me in any way, I will get you killed. But if you help me, I will give you the means to get my father’s throne and, eventually, the whole kingdom”.

Damyan stared a her for some moments and, at that point, he understood. She had not told him everything that had happened to her. Not even close. “Anyone else who wronged you?”. Angelica looked again towards the flames and murmured ‘My uncle. My cousins’. He walked towards her and extended his hand. “We have a deal. But be warned: shall you betray me, I will make you wish for death before I even started exerting my vengeance on you”.

“Quite a typical threat, don’t you think?” she said as she shook Lord Damyan’s hand.

“I feel like this could be the beginning of a long, lasting friendship”.

“Who knows. Maybe, in due time, I may even think of you as my husband. Now, where is my room? I really hate this dress”.

“Top of the stairs, second floor, third door to the left”. Angelica smiled and, carrying the dresses’ skirt on her thin hands, she disappeared through a door. Once he was alone, Damyan blew a long breath and curled his mustache. “Hell… I may be in love!”

​

___________________________________________________________________________

Hope you enjoyed it!

Connor thought he had outdone them all. His latest caper did not feel as transactional as all of his other crimes. This instance involved the life of another person. Rather than simply stealing someone else's money or property, he had now impacted the future of someone's life.

But it was Patricia Lewand. She wasn't a person in Connor's eyes. Patricia had been part of a family fortune that was a heavy hitter in the railroad empire in the late 1800s of the United States.

Unlike Connor's upbringing, Patricia had no idea what struggle was like. People who grew up with a gold spoon in hand were not human in Connor's eyes. They had no brain and they couldn't function outside of their own small pack of wealthy elites.

So there was no issue of morality when it came to swindling her out of some fortune by marrying her. The old witch he met in New York City indeed sold him a love potion that worked. But their wedding was over, and the potion was starting to wear off.

Connor and Patricia cuddled each other on the couch in their living room in the mansion that her parents bought for the two of them. Patricia lay next to Connor, but she got up suddenly and said, "Something's not right..."

Getting up from the couch, she wandered to a chair in the corner and gazed out the window. She was practically on the other side of the room.

Connor had a devilish grin. "Is everything all right, darling?" It was around the time and day that the witch had predicted the love potion would wear off.

"Yes. Everything is fine... I'm just starting to have some thoughts."

"Oh? And what about?" Connor was excited because he knew she was thinking about divorce, and that would lead to him getting his fortune through a settlement since she would want to end things with him, and they didn't sign any sort of prenuptial agreement.

Patricia pulled out a long filter and put a cigarette at the end of it and struck a match. She drew in an inhale and blew out a cloud of smoke. "I'm just confused that you didn't try and pursue my sister. She's a little older than I am, and it's well known that she's not going to be alive for much longer due to her condition... So by marrying me for my fortune, you might not get away with it. But you could have married her and waited for her to pass, and then you would have forever been part of this family and you forever would have received monies and you probably could have married me too."

Connor was stunned. He tried to think of something to say but his lips fumbled.

"You think you're so smart but I can see you right through you."

"I'm sorry," Connor said, and he actually meant it. In the process of making her take the love potion, he also developed some feelings for her. In his head, the plan was to get a divorce, but in his heart, he actually wanted to see if maybe they could work.

"You have some considerable talent, I'll give you that. But I still think you do more and do better." Patricia shrugged. "I have an idea for a score myself... Would you be interested to hear it?"

"Yes, absolutely. What are you thinking?"

Patricia's head tilted to the side. She was still gazing out the window, and didn't look at Connor. "Hm. We'll have to stay married for a little while longer. Are you still interested?"

"Yes, yes, yes, please tell me."

Patricia had a devilish grin much like Connor's and she took one big puff from her cigarette. Connor leaned forward, waiting to hear the details of the next potential caper.

r/randallcooper

Finally, I open the car door and hold her hand as she slides onto the seat, and walk around, and grin like a maniac and wave and when I shut the door, the smile must stay pasted on. She too is smiling her pretty little smile and waving, and looking at everyone crowding around. I start slowly, so as not to run over any of these imbeciles, and hold the smile until we turn off and they begin to disappear from sight.

I let out a deep sigh, my jaw aching from the forced smiles. “All those people,” I say shaking my head.

“Darling, what do you mean?” she asks with concern. She brushes a coiffed bang from her face.

“Dearest, they’re all so lovely, but I’m sure we now have three of the same toaster.” Then I remember I don’t have to act anymore. The habit stuck for a second, but she is now powerless. “Melodia, sweet,” I say without feeling, without the need or desire to feign it any longer, “By the laws of this land, I now have full control of your inherited assets. I married you solely for those assets so that I can finally wrest control of this city from the incompetent bleeding hearts that run it. I’d say I regret to tell you this, but it is without regret. This was planned from the beginning."

“What?” she cries. But her protest is insincere. I look over at her and her shocked face transforms into a wicked grin, and she shrieks with laughter.

“Do be serious, Winstead. You have no more access to my inheritance than I decide you do.” She chuffs in delight. “To take over the city? This measly city? Winstead, you think so small.”

“No, by law—”

“Yes, by law, but hours before our legal binding, all my assets were transferred in ownership to a trust, over which I have sole authority.”

I let the car roll to the side of the road. “This whole wedding… We’re… married.”

“Oh don’t be dramatic, so many of us play these games, sometimes you lose. I needed a man because nobody in this place will take a woman seriously. I need a face, a man’s face, with a moustache, and it’s not a bad moustache. All the better a man’s face that can smile at loathsome people. Through you I can conduct my affairs. You’ll live well, likely better than you did before, excellent fare, lodgings, wherever we go. Disobey me and I will concoct a strategy to have you dead, or your reputation destroyed, and I will find someone else. It would be extremely annoying if I had to do that. And if I should happen to die before you, you can have the inheritance. As if I’d give any to my family.”

She took a long look at me, as I tried to process this.

“Darling, start the car.”

I turned the key. I began to drive.

What followed were more indignities. At more of these farce meetings, with people every bit as disgusting as I, I smiled and shook hands, and made small talk, and every moment I did not satisfy my darling wife, her voice would slide in; Friendly disapproval, “Winstead,” the latter vowel dragged out and high. And every time I heard that disapproval in public I heard it worse in private. She would deride me, explain my shortcomings in considerable detail. All the various things she needed for her plan to gain control of not just the city, but the province, then to worm our way into the capital. And they were working. These skills I had used to wed her, were now being used to woo public officials, and important businessmen. But all the thrill I’d have had was gone, because the plans were not mine, but hers. She had near full control of the city, were expanding to neighbouring ones. I became infamous for power, but took also the reputation of a puppet.

It got to the point where my peers and rivals would smirk whenever they heard her public disapproval. How I would wince for a fraction of a second when she said my name in that mockery of chiding. They knew what sort of relationship this was. Every private moment was smiling and good cheer, and every private moment me snapping at her, which she would wave away until I broke. Then, the only thing that left my lips was a glum “yes, dearest.”

It was one such night, where I’d gone to my own, separate bedroom, and found a bottle on the table near the fireplace, an old-fashioned one with the fire already burning. Next to the bottle was a note. In the firelight, I read it. “I never wanted your unhappiness, but it is a price I will pay for the power I seek. You chose this for yourself, but perhaps this will make it a little easier. Don’t drink too much, I need you functional in the morning. – Your wife, Melodia”

I barked a bitter laugh. I suppose I had been ready to do to her every bit of what she was doing to me. I poured the whiskey into a fine crystal glass. Tasted it on my lips and, perhaps because she was on my mind, I could not help seeing the parallels between them. Oily smooth, rich, a touch of sweetness, but how it burnt me from the inside.

There was a breeze coming in and I snarled to myself about disciplining the manservant who had neglected to close the window on such a cold night. But it wasn’t the manservant who had opened it. It was a man, all in tight-fitting dark navy blue.

“Who are you?”

“I am a shadow, an angel of hope, and a demon of death.”

“Well shut the window, it’s cold out.”

The man complied.

“Will you have a drink?” I asked.

“You are a strange one,” the man replied. “I’m working. Drinks will come later.”

“Suit yourself,” I said as I sat next to the bottle.

“Would you like to know why I’m here?” the man asked.

I thought about it for a moment. “May as well tell me,”

“I am here to save you. You see, you are very close to controlling this city. But your wife has unmanned you, done horrid things to you. So I offer you a way out. You can have your freedom from her, and you can keep this city for yourself also.”

I look up at him, brows scrunched. I’d almost forgotten what it was to have desires of my own.

He held a vial to the light of the fire. “This is poison. Untraceable, no odour, nor taste. It’s rare. Nobody would ever suspect a thing. She does, in fact, have a family history of this kind of thing. You could do it, and take the story to a much later grave, or I could do it, and I’m afraid it would be obvious the two of you have been assassinated.”

I stood and held my hand out, he walked forward. I took the vial, held it to the firelight, marveled at it. A small quantity of what appeared to be water. A small vial of what appeared to be hope. With my spare hand I poured my glass full to the brim and took another sip of whiskey, this time straight from the bottle. This next part would be unpleasant. It’d be good to have a bit of haze in the mind while I did it.

In a single, silent motion, I dropped the vial, and two-hand swung the bottle at the man’s face. It shattered across the bridge of his nose and his orbital bone on his left side. He fell and I leapt on top of him. The neck of the bottle had remained intact, ending in jagged bits of glass, which I ground into the man’s neck.

“I am no less a dangerous man than I was,” I snarled into his face, as he gasped and clutched at his bleeding throat. “A kept tiger is still a tiger.”

When Melodia came in, I was sitting in the chair by the fire, drinking from a half-full, blood-stained, crystal glass of whiskey. The corpse was still lying where he’d fallen.

“This one was meant for you,” I said, and lifted the little vial. I didn’t look at her, just laid it back on the table. She sat in the armchair across from me.

“Winstead,” she said, putting her hand on my knee. I looked up into her eyes, which seemed full of some emotion that I couldn’t recognize in the sway of the liquor. “I knew you feared me,” she said. “But I never realized you loved me.”

She put her lips to mine, in a wet kiss, and I realized it too.

“Why wouldn’t I love you?” I mumbled. I looked up at her. “You’re everything I wanted to be.”

"Marten."

The voice came from the door like a song on the breeze.

"Gabrielle." He responded.

"I've been thinking of our little arrangement." She spoke now. The unlit cigar she removed from her mouth leaving a small ring of lipstick on one end.

"Oh. How so?" He asked.

She undid the trenchcoat she wore to reveal a rather startling scene of what little she still wore underneath.

"I understand you are a man of business."

It took Marten a moment to really explain himself. Let alone what all he was looking at.

"One could say that. Yes." He agreed.

She slowly bent over the mahogany desk and breathed on his mustache from a short distance.

"And I know that you and Adam are mortal enemies. What with him thwarting your plans all the time. Business plans, I mean."

"Well, yes. I wouldn't say we're mortal enemies." Marten watched as she slid around the desk to get even closer. "More of participants in a large conflict of interests."

"I'm surprised you haven't killed him." She stated.

He wondered how much Adam had told her about him before. Not that all the times Marten himself had used her existence as leverage against him.

"I've tried. The guy just comes back eventually." He shrugged. Gabrielle, slid the cigar she originally mouthed into his own. She lit it for him with a practiced hand, blowing the match out effortlessly.

"He has a family. You know? Start there."

Why would she say that? The statement even made Marten reconsider what she was there for.

"That's a bit excessive." He reacted. "Plus I really don't know where to start."

"Well, there's a retirement home a few neighborhoods over. Just to start."

She had left him to stare out of the windows of the penthouse. She had lit a cigarette of her own and was busy watching traffic far below.

"You realize I am a businessman? Right?" He stood.

The demure look she gave him made his heart melt, but his mind race.

"I didn't say you had to do it. You have a lot of workers after all."

"Exactly. I'd go to jail for that. Besides, I have to figure out how to seal this deal."

"For what?" She quizzically glanced.

"Oh, these warehouses we're building. The orphanage next door said they're taking us to court. Partially because they couldn't afford the funds to stay open, but mainly because they fairly sure they still own the land."

"Ok. Burn it down."

"And I- What??"

He stopped his rambling diatribe immediately at that. What even was that?

"What?" She sheepishly asked.

He palmed his face. "Obviously, I'm not doing that."

"Again I didn't say you should." She offered up. "Somebody you hired could."

"Like who?" He tried to sidetrack.

"Snake. Or No Ears Bobby. I bet Fat Richard could probably do it. Even as big as he is."

The thumb under her chin along with the cigarette and glasses made her look like some weird pastiche between a pin up model and a librarian.

Marten spread his hands. "Richie fat as hell but he's not gonna' burn down an orphanage. We'll take them to court. Like we're supposed to."

She walked over and embraced him again. Quietly, she worked her way around to lean on his shoulder. She began whispering in his ear.

"You know a couple of your workers on the plant floor are stealing from you."

He paused his mild concerns. Money was always tantamount.

"Okay. Which ones?"

She turnt her head to rest against his own.

"Does it matter. Take a couple of them out back, skin them alive, and I guarantee everyone will get right."

"Why... Why would I do that? Why would I do it like that?" He began to perspire. A mild shiver ran up his spine.

"Because, fear breeds obedience. It takes that little spark of contempt for authority and..." She stopped to put her cigarette out in her palm, of all things. "Puts it right out."

"Okay. I'll think about it. Look can you give me some time to work on these papers? I still have to see whose getting the shipments for the hospital."

He hoped this would steer their talk somewhere else. Or at least give him a moment to think about the ideas she'd given him.

"Oh, is that complicating things?"

"A lot. We might not be able to cover this and the construction job at the same time."

Gabrielle smiled. "Let somebody else deliver the supplies and focus on your land issue then."

"Not the worst idea perhaps." He admitted as she closed her coat and took another seat on the edge of his desk.

"Besides." She cheered up. "If you poison the supplies before they get to the hospital, that takes the heat off of you, so you can take care of that orphanage. Then when the orphans are out of the picture, you can finally finish off Adam.... And the city is ours."

---

"Hello? Operator? Put me through to Adam Ferriss. Yes. Thank you."

"Adam Ferriss, inquiry agent. How can I help you?"

"Adam! My boy! Good to hear from an old friend."

"...You've got a lot of nerve calling me."

"Why yes. Yes I do. Spare me the waterworks son. I'm not calling for formalities. I'm calling you because it's of great importance to you."

"I'm listening."

"As you may know. I've recently come into the possession of a very fine asset I'm sure you're familiar with.... Ferriss?"

"Go on."

"You tried to interrupt our little soirée. What with your precious wife Gabri-."

"Ex wife." Adam corrected. "If you do anything-"

"Ah, but I already did. If you want her back, come get her. The wharfs, tonight."

They readied their Thompsons and waited now. His immediate circle having positioned themselves through the yard. Gabrielle patiently stalking the aisles still in her trenchcoat and lingerie combo.

"You sure about this boss?" Fat Richard spoke.

"If we're lucky." Marten muttered as he slid a drum into place and pulled the bolt back. "We'll get both of them."

"What?"

"Nothing."

---

As much as I love classic noir, they always did the female characters dirty. So here's a femme fatale on demon timing.

r/Jamaican_Dynamite

"Let me go, and I will not destroy you," Morgana stated calmly. Her black hair flowed down her shoulders, rippling across her pure white gown in waves. She was a short young woman, but her eyes made up for that.

Two orbs of pure darkness stared at me with annoyance, though I could tell she was shaking in her ropes. The ropes, normally infused with expensive hyssop ash, were barren and mundane.

And yet they served the purpose perfectly, I thought, snorting. There was no need for hyssop ash when it came to powerless witches. The only purpose the girl before me served was as a battery for what was likely to be the best kingdom-stealing plot in the world.

"As if you could," I smiled, sipping my wine and turning back to spit in her face (not literally, of course. I'm a gentleman! Most of the time). "It took me a few arms and legs to learn of your family secret-" I said, relishing the shock in her eyes, "- but I did."

"And what secret is that?" she muttered, staring up at the ceiling as she awaited my reply.

"You have no powers!" I sang, jumping up and down like a young boy waiting for presents upon the dawn of Yule. "When Merlin's consort and fellow witch gave birth to you, she was so horrified by the magical powers of your ancestors that she placed a curse on you!" I shouted, delighting in every second of it.

I danced and danced, circling her tied-up form as I finally let out all my emotions. Then, as the adrenaline and pride of being the Emperor of Shadows finally began to wear off, I saw it. Her quivering form. The tears trickled down her cheeks.

I'd done it! I'd broken a member of the Imperial Family! Oh, the history books would write poems about me! It was more than I could deal with, I thought. I was proven wrong, however, when she laughed.

I felt my heart sink into my chest. I wanted to disappear, to vanish off the face of the earth forever. I'd always protested learning the invisibility spell as a child, but at that moment I wished I could just vanish forever.

"What are you-"

The ropes glowed for a second. Then the chair exploded, somehow leaving her unharmed and leaving me with a bleeding gash that very narrowly missed my groin. My eyes widened as she continued hurling pieces of furniture at me.

Outside our little bedroom in the tower, the sky began to turn black. Lightning and thunder roared in a demonic chorus. Blood rain fell from the sky and stained the earth around the building a ruddy hue.

"How are you-"

I dodged another piece of furniture, my mind frantically rifling through solutions. There was no hyssop in sight, no witch hazel, or any other quick-bind solutions for this (not that it would even work when it came to witches of this strength). I knew it was a stupid idea! My assistant should never have suggested it! (yes, that assistant that's due to arrive in a few weeks)

I screamed, mentally plotting a list of torments I'd have to give to everybody as soon as I got back home as I evaded the grandfather clock hidden away in the corner of the stone chamber.

All this while, she laughed. Doubling over so hard I feared she was going to pierce her lungs with her ribs, she laughed. I'd had plenty of humiliations in my lifetime. I'd been beaten, spat at, and bruised more times than I could count.

But being laughed at...when I wasn't trying to be funny...when I'd massacred the entire Imperial Family except for their youngest daughter and became King...that was a new low.

Wiping the tears from her cheeks, the Daughter of Night stood and faced me. The furniture stopped moving. The rain vanished as if it had never existed. The only reason I thought it hadn't been an illusion was that I could still smell the blood.

"What was the exact wording of the curse, my dear husband?" she asked. I was in shock. I couldn't speak. She must've realized this because then she very helpfully sent a bolt of lightning crashing into my forehead.

A couple more electrocutions later and I was back to normal. The electrocutions had been so utterly helpful, in fact (note my sarcasm), that I had managed to somehow dredge up every bit of knowledge I had about the curse.

I tried forming a coherent sentence, believe me, I did. I also failed, much to the amusement of my arsonist wife.

"When Merlin wedded his wife and witch-" I started, yelping as a stream of flames nearly set my robes on fire, "-his wife was so horrified by the magical prowess of her children that she-" a high-pitched scream erupted from the tower (most certainly the princess's creation), "-bound their magic!"

I felt my brain beginning to melt. Morgana yawned, nodding at the blood in my eyes for a minute before preparing to leave.

"Wait!" I shouted. "Any child born of Merlin's bloodline will own tremendous power. However, from the moment they first breathe air, they will be incapable of accessing their power. As long as they shall live, this curse shall-" I felt my mind beginning to give way as I realized what'd happened. As long as they shall live.

"You're a ghoul!"

Many soldiers who had been on duty that day reported several ear-splitting shrieks erupting from the castle walls. Among them, the chief being: "I slept with a zombie?!", accompanied by several more screams that remind them of a young child complaining of rats and spiders in their beds.

Please note that this is merely an urban legend (no matter what my hideous-sorry, beautiful and intelligent, and loving young bride will say). Nobody screamed that day. Most certainly not like a little girl.

"What?" she shouted, her magic already working to release me of her brain-rotting curse. "No, you fool! I'm pregnant!"

My brain stopped working for a minute. Okay, maybe two.

"...How does that relate to anything that just happened?" I asked.

She rolled her eyes.

"'From the moment they first breathe air, they will be incapable of accessing their power', my dear wonderfully foolish groom. Their power. The power that belongs to them and them alone."

She smiled, tapping her head as she continued.

"I draw on power belonging not to me, but my child. And with a little help-" she said, pulling out a vial of what looked like blood but probably wasn't, "- I will continue to do it for the rest of my eternal life."

I didn't trust myself to speak.

"Of course, I won't have to use the potion forever. Just long enough for me to gain enough power to reverse the curse by myself, maybe in a month or two, and that should be it. Then-" she rubbed her hand over her stomach, "-my child will be born, and together we shall rule the world."

"And what place do I have in this?" I asked, my voice barely above a whimper. She glanced at me as if I was a mere afterthought in her grand scheme.

"You can be a Halloween decoration, I suppose," she mused. "I couldn't enact my plan without having the rest of my family murdered, of course. There would be suspicion, and I'm not interested in drama like that."

"That's why I sent you the message in your head. I knew you were the only one stupid enough to actually try this out. You played your role perfectly, Aleister. Thank you very much. Now, why don't you go off to bed?" she said.

And here I am today. A statue of stone, incapable of movement unless I am unseen. My children (they're twins, yes) never come to visit. Sometimes she'll sit down to write journals. Normally they're ideas for spells, or new schemes designed to end world hunger.

I have no doubt the world is thriving thanks to her. I can see it in their smiles. Children play on the grounds of the castle, not knowing that once upon a time it would've been suicide to even look at the grass for too long.

Now I must go. I have a meeting with a museum exhibit. Wish me luck my dear journal!

~Signed, The Statue.

I smile a wide smile as I grin at my blushing bride, The preacher tells of the miracles of God to me and my bride.

I await with great satisfaction with my scheme coming to reality, and I commit myself to saying "I do" and kneel in.

Our lips grace each other in a moment of manipulated love, a love I thought hoax, untill I felt it. She leaned into my shoulder after and whispered, she whispered things I never thought dream able, let alone humanly possible.

She suggested bombings, war crimes and devilry in all the worst way's. My plans had gone too well. Where all I wanted to do was prove hero man wrong, that my life style was possible.

Three years and counting, I still haven't found the solution, even after giving up on my home and joining hero man's hero coup. I've divorced her and even cut off any and all ties with her. She still found me, I'm not sure when the war will end but I pray it will be soon...

Welcome to the Prompt! All top-level comments must be a story or poem. Reply here for other comments.

Reminders:

>* Stories at least 100 words. Poems, 30 but include "[Poem]" >* Responses don't have to fulfill every detail >* See Reality Fiction and Simple Prompts for stricter titles >* Be civil in any feedback and follow the rules

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