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By Julian Drury
It is impossible for me the restate all these issues, as I have already borne torture and confession. Murderer they have called me! Fools they are. They will see. I am still alive, and they can’t destroy me. I will tell you, though, the story about my predicament. How, you may ask? The reason I am where I am. I am a truthful person, and rather attentive to feeling. I am not as great a monster as those pious fools say I am. In fact, I am caring, gentle to the body and soul. Though, it was when the great omen beset me, in shape of a black cat that I fell from my graces. Here I sit, imprisoned in my own castle. Neither God nor Satan wants my company. I still live.
The life of a Countess, a life wrapped in pretty packages, only to be opened up and reveal the ugly gift that lay inside. I reigned over a servile people, all too eager to be slaves. Surely they would not suspect a woman of such atrocity? Surely they wouldn’t suspect their beloved Countess, a monster at heart? I had always been adored, though some may have whispered ill grievances against me. My rule across the land was absolute, and I knew only of my own ability to rule justly.
Then, one cold evening, during which streams of maniacal omens seemed evident, I was presented with a quaint gift. A gift, indeed. He came in a chest, carved as if it had been specially prepared for me. Great beasts and dragons were carved upon the surface of this chest, and it was opened up by my servants. It revealed to be a beautiful beast, a cat with splendid black fur. The cat held eyes that were as green as emeralds, yet had shine of fire in them! Upon the neck of this gifted animal was a tag that read the name: CHARON.
I inquired to my servants the source of origin of the cat, which was said to be a tributary gift from some strange prince in the mountains of Wallachia. The cat, who I assumed was named Charon, was quite attractive to me. My husband was utterly repulsed by it. He always was a fool for taste, and a coward for compassion. He hated animals, especially four-legged beasts like dogs and cats. The servants offered to dispose of the cat, to which I fiercely objected. I demanded Charon stay in my company.
I am unsure why I decided to keep the strange animal, and I am still unsure whether it was a mistake to do so. Perhaps he reminded me of a series of black cats I owned as a child, which of course did not suffer on my account. I was raised with a many series of animals, and they all seemed to enjoy my company. Though, there was something bewitching of this cat named Charon. Soon I realized that this cat named Charon was a creature of intelligent will. It, he I should say, could speak to me. Not in the way you and I speak to each other, but something rather different. It was if him merely looking at me relayed messages for me alone, and I could understand these messages. Charon was something of an omen, and I asked this ominous beast whether he worked for Heaven or Hell? That was never answered clearly. What was answered was something special, and that I already predisposed myself to.
Charon slept with me, ate with me, and followed me on my daily duties. He was more than a “pet.” Calling him such a thing implies that Charon was a mere slave of mine, a pawn for me to use and possibly abuse at my leisure. No, I was his pawn, his pet, his item to abuse at will. I just did not know this at the moment. Charon was always in my company, and my court and people tended to grow confused and disturbed at the sight of the black cat siting in my lap, while I addressed them! My husband continued to whisper silent blasphemies against me, rumors and distorted tales of my relationship with Charon.
My secrets were safe with Charon, and I knew that as long as his watchful eye protected me, I would continue my practices without trauma. My baths were important to me, and I knew that the more baths I took, the more girls I would need. Only girls were important in this case, not men. The spoils of men are poison, and riddled with the cancers of hatred and vanity of dominance. The life of men are savage wolves craving the sheep they will never catch, craving the meat they can never eat, and the blood they can never drink. Charon told me that only the girls were worthy, and his advice indeed proved true.
I could take my time explaining the methods I used in drawing my baths, but that seems tedious. I’m sure you get the impression of this great dungeon, and the possibilities of physical torture have no limits.
Charon would never leave me, and assured me that he only held “the best intentions” for me and my lands. He, however, as I, grew wary of my husband. One day, while frolicking in my private garden, Charon deduced that my husband was going to cause the end of me. He stood in the way of me and Charon, therefore something had to be done. However, even with Charon’s insistence, I could not bring myself to conjure a death sentence for my husband, a royal count!
While, I could not merely kill my husband, Charon’s voice fueled these thoughts in the darkest corner of my mind.
Certainly a MADNESS unfolded here—as should be expected. The accusations against me grew, the closer I became with Charon. Years passed, and my beauty never passed a day. Charon, too, would never ail or weaken as beasts of their old age do. Blood was the key. Blood was the life. With each year, new rumors spread, and animosity with my husband grew. This grew especially over my relationship with Charon, and the activities that he led me to. The animosity built up to near extreme levels, though I did not have to take action. My husband had to ride off to war once again against the Turks, and he was soon after killed in battle. It was even rumored, through the words of my maidservants, that before my husband rode off into battle, the horses and men grew frightened by the appearance of a figure that they considered an evil omen: the figure of a black cat.
That left me and Charon to be alone.
With my husband dead, it seemed as if the time was perfect, that finally I could be free to cast my own power without fear of my husband’s interference. Though, as much as Charon clung to me, I could sense certain attitudes about him that made me second-guess him. I asked Charon whether or not my life and rule over the land would flourish. Charon would not answer me, at least not when I asked him that. As many questions I asked him, he refused to answer that one.
Storms and darkness engulfed the castle, as suddenly I could feel the most diabolical feeling any human can experience: BETRAYAL.
Nothing good lasts. Charon, the beautiful beast, betrayed me. Through my gullibility, and his unnatural power, I was seduced to do his bidding. So many girls—so much blood. So many years. It was all a deceit. Cursed I became, in body and mind. Charon deceived me, leeching off the fruits of my labor! Charon was not merely a cat, nor angel or demon. Charon was something else, a perception maybe. His origins are not of the world.
Charon is an avatar of destruction, the incarnation of the ill. He has traveled many lands, and ravaged many kingdoms, driving their leaders insane and drowning their peoples in blood. He has even visited kingdoms and worlds beyond ours, and fomented the same results. I was another chapter in his story—another victim to his cosmic horrors!
I am a Countess. I am no one’s victim. I am no one’s pawn.
So, I resolved an evil plot, concocted over many glasses of red-wine. I had Charon believe that I desired his company, though I secretly prepared my trap. I had Charon sprung suddenly in a net, which I expected more resistance. He showed none surprisingly. He merely stared at me with his eyes, his fiery eyes. Fire is soon what he would know. I had the beast thrown into a furnace next to my dungeons, taking no pity on him for his slight against me. He made no sound, burning quietly. He eyes were the last to incinerate. Though with his eyes, he sent me a message. A message I wanted to ignore, yet could not. The message told me:
I can never die.
After I committed the horrid deed, I tried to continue on as normal. I simply could not. Charon being gone, along with my husband, left some strange void within myself. I could not imagine any form of happiness, and only sadness was within me. The rumors against me did not cease, in fact, grew to their worst at this point. I also noticed, to my horror—I was growing old!
Night-terrors beset me, and I could never bring myself any comfort to sleep. I sweat, and ached, and seemed that every passing day I began to despise life much more furiously than the previous day. I could find no joy except in obsession, and my castle and court soon noticed my extreme degeneration. I would cry out at night,
“CHARON! CHARON!...Let me live…let me live!"
Age set upon me with unearthly swiftness—therefore I had to gather more girls for my baths. Irrationality set on me as swift as the overdue age, and more and more I began to resemble a monster in both mind and body. Solutions seemed plenty, though none worked the way I wanted. It was quite simple, though the effects incalculable. It took about two girls to fill a bath, therefore I had to try and be as careful as possible, especially as the pool of peasant girls and prostitutes were running low. This is where my real mistakes were made. I should have realized. I no longer had Charon’s protection.
I could not save myself anymore, yet I also could not stop. I simply could not.
The daughters of royalty are just as vain and insignificant as the daughters of peasantry and whores. They laugh the same, smile in the same hideous ways. In my eyes, nothing made them special. Yet, through the insane vanity we call “propriety” there are certain people who are considered too special to maim. If, however, these vain girls of propriety were to be tossed into the wilderness, the raw and untamed world, then they would be equivalent to the peasant and the whore. There would be nothing to set them apart, even from the savage beasts.
In my eyes, they are all beasts. Items to be tamed, or destroyed.
Though, I could not escape the judgment. I could not escape Charon’s wrath!
I was discovered in my bath. To my horror, I could see my accuser. He was not a man, nor even a legion of men. It was impossible to comprehend, to believe! Yet—he was there, standing before in a greatly night-sky aura that only creatures of his comprehension could emanate. There he was—the figure of a black cat with fiery green eyes. Charon had deceived me again. He is a beast of strange eons, and has already brought Death to die. Men did not expose my horrors to the world, men did not expose me to justice. Charon exposed me for the weak and feeble creature I truly am. I screamed a scream so great at the sight of my beastly accuser, that the foundation of the castle shook and I could feel the heavens fall. Stars fell from the sky, and broken lightning rained. My scream elevated, then turned to horrific laughter! Laughter!
I laughed at my judgment, and I still do. The monster was still alive! And so am I!
I can only HOPE. Perhaps something will change. I sit in my own dungeon, in my own castle. My castle of death. Yet, I am still alive! I am no longer beloved Countess, but I still have a name: Elizabeth. The story is all true. I was gifted by the madness that caused my fall. Judging eyes and ears will impart judgments of grandeur, yet will never understand me. I do not need your pity, or acceptance. I need no vindication, nor rumor of untold horrors. All that matters is that I am still here. This age and this species will always remember me, and Charon will make sure of this. He still lives, still out there somewhere in this world or the next. His victims will go down in history. Charon leaves only death and destruction. The one item of history that men always remember, is that which devastates the most. No spice or advertisement is needed to sway the minds of men toward learning of death and destruction. Therefore, my name will always be remembered. I will always have an audience, just like you at this moment.
You are my only audience now, my last solace. Here, in the castle of my life and death, I will wait. The tombs will be emptied, and darkness will rise. Pray not wary Priest.
Charon…is that you?
#Unreal #Elizabeth'sCat #Spooky #Death #Betrayal #Beasts
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