The Voyage
The ship was big and black and smelt like coal. Noisy too – the horn cut through the hubbub of the dock, forcing the crowd into silence and scattering the seagulls to the four winds. But he didn’t care. It was going to take him away.
The Dance
They were dancing. Not dancing as she knew it, with the harsh clack of heel on wood and a stiff upper body locked a respectable distance from your partner. No, their dancing was more like the type the tenants did by the fires, when the harvest was in and the poitin flowed. The dancing her father forbid her to see.
Bathory
She loved it. The feel of it, sliding over her skin. The way it looked, slopping in waves over the lip of the bath, running down the sides like a crimson waterfall. Most of all, she loved the heat, constant and reassuring. It was blood, but it felt like a blanket.
The Creature
It was hideous. It had the head of a dog, but with great teeth like a serpent, set in the maw of whale. The thick, misshapen head sat upon the twisted body clad in scales and spines, like the foul offspring of a lizard and a porcupine. Its clawed toes drummed a sick rhythm against the cave floor.
The Cold Throne
It was cold to sit upon. The royal throne. He did not think it would be so, but it was made of bare steel, after all.
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