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a bittersweet love story set in a world of macabre.
She was a mother.
Now she’s merely a woman trapped within a shattered mind.
With a body full of scars and a past forever gone, at Chateau Dahlia carnage continues to unravel, and ghosts rise from the dead.
Sadist to masochist.
This saga is NOT for the faint of heart. Reader discretion highly advised.
Each book can be read as a complete standalone.
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“You hold the answers deep within your own mind.
Consciously, you’ve forgotten it.
That’s the way the human mind works. Whenever something is too unpleasant, to shameful for us to entertain, we reject it.
We erase it from our memories.
But the imprint is always there.”–Evanescence
Garish red in color.
Metallic in taste.
Crucial for survival.
There was something absolutely fascinating about the substance that flowed through our veins.
I watched it pool onto the concrete floor, the pitter-patter drowned out by the man gasping for air. He dangled helplessly from the ceiling, his bare and broken feet slowly splitting apart from the hooks I’d pushed through them some time ago.
With the flesh splitting like the end of a fraying rope, they wouldn’t hold him much longer, eventually tearing clean through. With the other lacerations on his body, he’d be dead by then. Well, for his sake he had better be or we’d have to start all over with another body part.
A quick glance at the wall clock showed it was ten to eleven. That was good enough for me, I’d done more than enough for one showing. I took a silent count to three and then rose to my feet.
There was a click in my right knee, not loud enough for the viewers to hear, or anyone else for that matter, but I knew it was there.
It was hard to ignore changes within your own body, welcome or not, and this was of the latter variety.
It hadn’t flared up in a while. So, I suppose it could be worse. Some may say I was lucky that was all that afflicted me, that I should count my blessings, be grateful I only occasionally needed to use a cane. But that was precisely the problem. The reason why I needed it in the first place.
Going to the far side of the room, I flipped a switch to cut the live feed and change the lighting from red to normal. Now fully able to see the man in all his agonized glory, skin the fine color of pallor and wavering in and out of consciousness. I estimated he had maybe thirty minutes tops. There was nothing to do until then. Sure, I could end him now. But why should I?
I didn’t know a damn thing about this unfortunate fuck other than he’d been sent to my Dahlia for this purpose.
Therefore, I felt no need to grant him mercy. I washed my hands, cleaning them with a special solution to rid all traces of what I’d been doing the past two hours.
Once I was finished, I stepped out into the corridor, closing the door to my playroom behind me. The hall was empty. Every indicator light above the remaining solid black doors was green, making me the last one to leave tonight. I left mine on red so anyone who ventured down here would know I wasn’t done yet.
I headed back towards the main portion of the Chateau, already pondering my next show. The transitional chandeliers hanging above me were on low. Their gentle glow illuminated the dark damask wallpaper lining both sides of the hall.
All was still this evening, no hungry cries from either of the twins since they were at home tonight.
It was always Julias. Morgaine was such a quiet little thing compared to him. I wondered if that would have any impact on their personalities. At four months old it was too early to tell.
As routine dictated, I found myself down in the study, settled on the settee with a fire going and glass of bourbon in my hand. Warmth and pure silence caressed my skin, seeping into my every pore with a meditative quality. Not a soul lingered on the first floor other than myself, but I wasn’t alone.
Above the mantle hung a portrait of the most beautiful thing I’d ever seen and being near it made me feel as if I was near her. Of course, I knew it was nothing more than a goddamn painting, but it’s all I had left. Fresh flowers were on the mantle just beneath it. I never bothered with visiting the cemetery anymore.
Our graves were in the same plot, but only one would hold the remains of a rotting body. The other would always be more for show, a monument.
It was always during these times of quiet that I had a soulful reflection. Memories of the past would seep to the forefront of my mind and beg for reexamination. It’d been so long since then, the day everything came crashing down. Quite literally.
The memory never faded. If anything, it had grown stronger, more vivid with every passing day, but that didn’t stop the world from spinning circles around my grief and regret. It mattered little that I lost my wife and my son lost his mother, too young to even remember her. Life simply went on.