lavorna with janice notes 7.23.11 - copy

7/29/2019 Lavorna With Janice Notes 7.23.11 - Copy

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Janice's Notes:

I double-spaced the text.

Highlighted repeated words & awkward sentences and/or fragmented sentences

New paragraph each time speaker changes

Put my comments in brackets at end of sentence/word/phrase

*******************************************************************



Gloom

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Word Count: 10,457

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LAVORNA by Gloom

The wind blows, so softly, like the eddy of a river, rushing, flowing. In her hair, the wind

tosses and twists, catching her face, catching the air, reaching out again, to sigh, and again, to grasp.

Her long black locks reaching, reaching for the sky they can never touch, for the air they can never

grasp. So like her, she thinks, looking down, her chin is covered.[awkward sentence] The thick

chunky stain scarlet, crimson, like her tears, streaming. His body is open, empty again, like her heart.

She loved him so much, so much. All his re-assurances that THIS time would be different.

That somehow, what had befallen so many others, their love would be able to overcome. That is WHY

she hid, that is WHY she lived off of carrion, and in the wild places. None of them, not one of them

had ever survived her love. so hungry, so raw, so primal . . . her flowing robes now stained crimson,

brown here, streaked there with clots and shredded skin. She stared down blankly, at him, the last in a

long line of hopefuls.[hopefuls? In what way?] How could she ever have believed him? How could

this time EVER be any different? Yet she had, and did, and now he lay in her lap, eyes in agonizing

disbelief, neck twisted at a horrid angle. She had done that last bit for mercy, as he had been screaming

so when she ate his insides.

Cursed, she was simply cursed, how could it be else?[is that phrase necessary?] To devour

those you love when passion is at its peak? What was she? She had never known. Surely NORMAL

people didn't devour someone they loved deeply, let alone digest it. [digest them?] Yet, ever since she



had reached womanhood it had been that way. Then began the horror, and the running, and the hiding.

At least when she was alone she didn't hurt anyone, she was most gentle, at least she thought so. That

of course, was always the reason they felt safe in approaching her. Her pale skin, her dark eyes, she

imagined they found her quite beautiful, and she did try to keep herself clean, despite her misfortune.

[sentence reads a little awkwardly] Yet, it was that same gentleness that fooled them. She would let

them draw close, and then the dance would begin again. When she finally told them, they couldn't

believe it, couldn't see someone like her doing something so horrible. They would laugh and joke with

her. Surely, she couldn't be serious. Surely, she had made it all up in her mind somehow [is 'somehow'

necessary?]. Then they would be, as he was, grey and lifeless, with their life's blood streaming around

her, and their insides inside her.

His broken shattered ribcage jutted up in the pale moonlight, the dark red stains looked

black in its light. She awakens [correct tense?] the next day and drags his fly-gathering remnants with

her to the river. She watches [correct tense?] them gather, eating, drinking and devouring the remains

of this thing that they did not, nor would they ever, love. Soon, she thought, their offspring would feast

on his rotting flesh in great profusion of wriggling maggoty whiteness, and the white spores of fruiting

fungi that sprouted from what they did not devour, would finish the rest. so colorful death, yet how she

yearned for one chance for her love to be complete, to be fully consummated instead of consumed.

Who could escape her ravenous hunger or her violent seizure and spasm at the appalling grisly death

that awaited all that would have to lover her. [? instead of .]

He had been running for three days. The dogs kept him going ahead of the mob.

Crazed, they were possessed of a rage and irrationality of the violent. Why did they hate him? Why did

this always happen? Always on the run. Always on the go. How many deaths had he faked? How

many times had he let them catch him? Tricky to get them to kill him the RIGHT way. Tricky to get

them to leave his seemingly dead corpse there, his blood everywhere, his body ready to decompose. He

could take almost anything. He even wondered if they finally DID decapitate him if it would be his



end. Fire was another story entirely. [does he know that fire will kill him? The last sentence seems

strange here.]

The village was only a few miles away, yet it seemed as if he had been running for weeks.

Hiding in the tree line, hanging in the treetops, his feet sore, his clothes tattered, his hair matted, no

time to wash, no time to rest, the dogs always at his heels. [maybe restructure this sentence or add a

few words.] How long would he make them wait this time? How long would he run until he pretended

to succumb to their advances? The dogs, the beatings, the torture and then death. It always hurt terribly,

all of it, the whole sordid affair. If he kept running they would keep chasing, and the mob would grow

and grow, as his reputation spread.

So he ran, slow to let them draw close, then fast when they got near, an endless game of tug of

war, they knew they could not kill him with their slings and arrows for their shafts protruded from his

clothes, or their holes were marked in his clothes, entry and exit points clearly visible.[run-on? Maybe

make 2 or 3 sentences?]

He was tired of running. They chased and chased him to the edge of a clearing, where there lay

a brook that opened into a wide expanse that lead to a vast forest. He ran towards it knowing the dogs

would catch him, knowing that the mob was close, but he also knew that their resources would be

limited here, to dispose of him, whatever their intentions.[run on?] He assured himself that they were

so far from the town and the woods he had come from, that the risk of fire was much less, and decided

to cease his struggling. Let them come, he thought, it would always be the same.

The first bite seared his arm as he let the dog tear at his clothes, felt the teeth bite into his flesh,

first with a pinch, then a tear, felt the blood from his arm and the muscle beneath it bunch. Close on his

heels were the other dogs, now looking for resistance, then to his ribs, his legs as he put his arms up in

a mock attempt at fighting them, then, they began to tear into him, the dance of death and dying had

ensued.[run on?] He welcomed it. Even as the pain ravaged him, he thought, at last and and to this



tedious chase, and end to this futile and frivolous errand. [what?] The pain was elating, though searing,

for he knew he could not die in the normal way, he knew they could not end him, and so he

surrendered. They had him up on a wooden cross soon enough, screaming obscenities, and cursing at

him as the spawn of hell who should be destroyed. He had heard it all so many many times. How could

he help how he was born? How could he help what he had learned about himself? Yet, no answer he

could give, or plea he would cry had ever availed him, no tears, no mercy had ever found him, and so

he had given up on such foolish and pointless things.[2 sentences?] This is why he had decided to end

it this way, quietly, as a victim to satisfy their deep hatred for the different, their disgust and horror for

what they were not willing to, and could not, comprehend. For always he had found, did man ever vie

to destroy anything he found that did not allow him to easily categorize, and explain. His death and to

them, his destruction would be the only thing that would allow for peace to return to their world. His

chest, now lay bare, his clothing bloodied, a ruin. They took turns spitting on him then the words of

damnation, then the beating, his bones crushed, breaking the skin, the blood spurting in great red

flashes on their hammers,then their faces, their red rage consuming them. Finally the cry to the

heavens, then the blade to his heart, then his stomach, his entrails falling in a gush to his feet. They

removed the scarf, and slit his throat. He let the dying pains come upon him, his shattered lungs and

limbs to cease, he allowed the blood to rush from him, as they looked and poked and prodded, he let his

head hang limply, like a withered leaf, and they assured themselves of his demise. [break up into 2 or

3 sentences?] They opened his eyes and felt for his pulse and then content. [this confuses me – are

they content? Or did they open his eyes then feel for his pulse and content? I'm lost here] They

even broke the cross he was put upon and laid him out for the vermin to consume, no burial or last

rites. One of the men said they should put him in the water, but the others argued that to do so would

pollute it with his evil. They would come back and bury him later, and mark the place as accursed to

avoid contamination for those who would venture there.

She watched from a distance, their sound fading, their footsteps hushed by the sound of the



wind. The brook was not deep she knew, despite its appearance, at least she thought, not where he lay

[she knew, she thought, are they necessary phrases?] It was a curiosity to her, why did they kill this

man? What had he done to have them chase him so? The sun was obscured by clouds, grey and heavy

they hung shrouding him in shadows. It was cold outside she thought, and pulled her tattered dress to

her. She was safe in the treeline she knew, and could vanish in an instant, through the trees into the

dark intimidating forest. That the forest was rumored to be haunted by all manner of dark creatures

suited her just fine. It was the reason she had chosen them.[chose who?]

She crossed the brook in her bare feet, now hardened to the sharp stones she chose to use to

cross. The smell of rot and fresh blood was already strong. She had waited a long time to make sure

that no dogs would come, and that her scent, new and unknown would not attract them. The hem of her

dress drug behind her wet with moisture, mud, and littered with the decaying remains of dry leaves.

The smell of fresh blood and the wet sounds of the soft grass beneath her assailed her senses.

The bright red stained her dress and her pale feet. She walked gingerly, to gaze upon their work. The

amount of cruelty they had shown the man was more than usual. [more than he usually got or more

than they usually gave?] She could only make out details at first in the overcast shadows, the great

red-black stain a giant striated stain that emerged from his body, that was sun. [what?]

Pale white bone stuck out in jagged relief against his blackened form. They had smashed him

with hammers, and bled him dry. The smell of his guts washed over her, sickeningly, and she wondered

how long before the flies came and then their larvae, that would eat this poor man until he was just bits

of broken bones.

His head lay to one side, blood covering his neck and pale skin, his long black hair spread out

in a halo that surrounded his head. Curious, she drew closer. Her long fingers touched his head. She

turned it to look at the face of the one they had butchered so violently. He was handsome she thought,

such good cheekbones and a strong jaw. Pity all he was fit for now was the love of the flies and the

rats. She moved his head again and framed his hair around his face, and then, suddenly, his eyes



opened.

"Its very rude to stare you know" he said and smiled.

She gasped and backed away aghast. "You're alive!" she said, and stood over his mutilated

body. She slowly walked to him and looked into his eyes. [stood over, then walked to? Was she

already there?]

"Why yes, yes I am." He said. She looked at his innards still strewn around and his bloodless

body.

"But how?" She said, " You're not, you're not all together-you should be dead!"

He smiled again. "It is something I have had to live with for a long time-The Not Dying. My

name is Odhrain, what's yours?"

She was shocked, frightened, and quite intrigued, not knowing what else to do she smiled

meekly "Lavorna," she said.

"Well Lavorna it is nice to meet you, even if under such inauspicious circumstances. It would

seem you have me at a disadvantage. Please don't be frightened," he said.

" I don't understand," she said " How are you alive still? What there those men after you for?

Why did they try to kill you?"

"I am sure it has something to with my ability to keep on living, as you see." He said "Now

Lavorna, if you would be so kind as to help me I would like to not be here when that unruly mob

returns."

She nodded and went over to help him. [was she already there?] His arms were still nailed to

the beams of wood and his entrails in great ropes all over, his skin open and she could see his insides. It

was truly a wonder to see him speak at all.

"I know it is unpleasant, but if you help me gather myself I think this will all go a bit faster," he

said looking at his guts. She was at first a bit squeamish, but then the thought of all her endless ex

lovers' devoured bodies and the various ways she had disposed of them, and resolved to help. She



picked up the bloody ropy things and brought them to the gaping cavity that was his abdomen and put

them in his hands.

"Thank you." he said and put them inside. He had already removed the boards and nails from

his arms and legs and was somehow growing back together.

"Now if you will allow me to concentrate a moment or two I can be on my way."

She stood watch, though he did not ask her to, as he slowly and amazingly started to knit

himself back together. First the bones closed and then grew back together, then the muscle. His innards

writhed and squished like slimy serpents and re-assembled themselves inside him. He then held down

the flaps of broken skin and closed his eyes, first there was a whitish film, then no seam, and then,

nothing! She couldn't believe it!

He stood up, his blood stained and torn clothes flapping loosely on his pale skin.

"I must apologize for my poor attire," he said "but unfortunately, no matter how much I can

heal myself, my clothes can never quite duplicate the effect." he said. He looked at her closely then, as

if for the first time seeing her clearly.

"You are quite the steadfast woman if I may say so. Most women I am acquainted with would

have run screaming. You seem only a little put off by all of this. Am I to gather you are used to seeing

such scenes of violence?" he said and seemed sincere.

She was quiet, not being used to scrutiny, much less from someone she had recently thought as

a cadaver. She merely nodded, and stood looking at him, not knowing what to do. He moved towards

her then, and gestured for her to to give him her hand. He took it and turned the back towards the sky.

"Well whatever the reason, you have my thanks," and kissed her hand with his pale cold, yet

soft lips. He turned to go then, standing, surveying the scene before him.

"Where will you go?" she said.

He stood for awhile and stared off into the distance deep in thought. "To be honest," he said "I

really hadn't thought of anything beyond getting away" he smiled "or at least getting them to go away."



Part The Second: Their Love of Savage Delight...

She faced him, looking at his perfectly healed flesh. She thought then, to herself, about the

forest, hiding, her predicament, inability, and her safety. Were she to invite him into her home, she

would be putting herself into danger, for surely the dogs would keep his scent, and follow him there.

He was too, as stranger, and as handsome as he was to her she still knew nothing about him except his

name, -and his strange ability. She resolved then to keep her problem to herself, to keep it secret.

She steeled herself, then. She could save him, could keep him safe, and what was the point of

turning him back to the mob? She spoke then " I know that we have only just met, and that you are

probably far from your home, but the stream could take away some of your scent, at least for a time,

and then you could find shelter in the forest from which I came." The thought had appeal, he thought

to himself, and this woman was not put off by all of the mess. She must be strong and cunning, a good

guide at the very least. The mob might only be a days journey from the site of his "execution" , and

they had promised to return to dispose of him. She seemed very resourceful to him, and he had to

admit, she was quite attractive, even if only in the way that a woman of the wild could be.

"Since I can think of no better option," he said "It would seem that I have no choice but to

accept your offer." Her heart leapt a bit unexpectedly when he said it, and she was excited, and

mysteriously so. Why was her heart suddenly pounding?

"Then follow me" she said, and they journeyed across the brook. "I will wait here while you

bathe, for it is best that the dogs lose your scent, so that they will not follow us," she said.

"Indeed," he said and began to take off his blood stained rags. She could not help but notice

how pale he was and how handsome, but out of modesty she turned and hid her eyes behind a large

tree. She heard splashing sounds and then him squeezing out his clothes, and his hair. "This might take

a bit for me to wring these out completely" He said. The wind grew meekly as the sun moved its place

among the grey sky. She waited. After awhile he came to her, his damp clothes cling to him limply.



"Where to now?" he said and she grabbed him by the hand which was soft, yet strong, instinctively into

the vast forest.

She lead him then through thicket after thicket, copse after copse of dense trees. The small

stragglers that crowded the edge were first, and then slowly into the cold crisp deeper forest. The trees

grew enormous, and the shadows lengthened, grew darker, the deeper they went. The sky grew dimmer

as night approached and small smatterings of bats flapped overhead. "How can you you see in this

light?" he said "How do you even know where you are going?"

She squeezed his hand gently and gave him a brief backwards glance. " I have always been able

to find my way, no matter what the light is like, and the forest is no mystery to me." They went further

and further into the wood, soon they were cloaked in darkness.

"Where are we going?" he said " I can't even see my hand in front of me! " A tinge of fear had

crept into his voice.

With a smile in her voice she whispered " I guess you just have to trust me then, but it is

somewhere safe we can spend the night" They wandered for hours in the darkness, only the dim

warmth of their joined hands a constant.

Odhrain noticed how quiet she was. Her feet made no sound, even though the forest floor was

littered with dry leaves. Even the soft rustle of the hem of her dress was did not sound, it was buried by

the gentle stirrings of the wind. How long had this woman lived here? How long had she lived this

way? Why was she helping him? -and yet, he had to admit that this was all very thrilling. She was kind,

and enchanting, and seemingly tender. The mystery of the night and his new found companion

embraced him and his mind filled with thoughts of intrigue.

They started up a steep incline, the night being obscured by clouds did not aid in their ascent.

Lavorna told him where to step, and when to duck as they made their way up what seemed to be a large

hill. He soon found the footing beneath him more solid and he began to smell old stone. As they

walked, as she guided him, there were he knew, though he could not see, great walls they were



passing. Suddenly the moon shone out from beneath the clouds, and he saw at once the bleak remains

of what looked to be the vasts ruins of a castle.

"What is this place?" "I had no idea there was anything here at all." he said.

"It has always been here since I was small, I found it when I was very young. There is no name

for it since it is mostly forgotten by everyone." she said. The ancient walls, he noticed, were

overgrown with ivy and vines that wrapped around them. Funnel webs and weeds choked what the

vines did not cover. She lead him gently into the remains of a great hall. The rotting remnants of

furniture were covered in cobwebs, and the sweating stone and dust filled the chamber. The tapestries

that had lined the walls had all fallen down, and a few ancient candelabras rested on mouldering tables.

"We can stay here for the night." she said " We should be safe." The remains of a great fire place that

once lit the hall lay empty. Lavorna had arranged makeshift bedding of downed tapestries and the

remains of heraldic flags. "let me make a bed for you." she said. "You can go wherever you need to

after tonight, and I can show you the rest of the way through the forest." In the dim moonlight her skin

was ghastly, her long wild hair hung down past her shoulders and disappeared into the folds of her

dress. Her dark eyes pits in the shadow of the night.

"Lavorna," he said, "I am glad that you are helping me, and it is not that I do not appreciate

what you have done, but I must ask you, why are you helping me?" She looked uncertain then,

confused, as if she was not able to understand why he was questioning her.

"I thought they had killed you and yet you were alive," she said. "Perhaps it was the need to see

you not die a second time, or perhaps it was something else." She looked at the floor meekly. "I've

never met anyone quite like you before, to be honest." She slowly raised her gaze to meet his, and she

smiled...

They stared at each other a moment, their gazes touching as something hidden passed between

them. "I think it best that you rest, as it is not a fast journey to reach the forests edge." She said. He lay

down in his tapestry bed. The cool night air biting through the frayed flags. She laid against the stone



floor, her long dark hair spread out across it like creeping vines. Her thin figure rising and falling in

her worn and threadbare dress. The lustre of the moonlight and the embrace of the shadow lent her a

dreamlike quality. How much warmer it would be, he thought, to lay next to her. He waited for awhile

until his gaze faltered on her breathing form, then he drifted into slumber.

He awoke to a soft warmth pressing against him. She had wrapped a flag about them like a

sheath , and had pressed herself against him.

"I was cold, I hope you don't mind" she said. She smelled like dying leaves, grass and the faint

smell of night jasmine that lingered in her hair. Her slender arm wrapped itself around his waist as it

searched for warmth, and his breathing slowed, in time, with hers. He lay like this for awhile, aware of

her presence, aware of her warmth, aware of her soft sweetness, and her gentleness. His fingers found

hers all on their own involuntarily, and he was not surprised that though strong, her soft hands willingly

grasped his own. His heart thrummed with an unknown excitement at her responsiveness. The silent

night between them slowly sparking with a vibrant electricity. He pulled her arm to him gently and

turned his head to look at her. Her dark eyes stared back at him intently, not with fear or trepidation but

sincerity and something else he had not noticed...sadness.

He wondered why that gray shadow tinged her gaze. Again the questions; who was this

woman? Why was she helping him? Suddenly he did not care who she was, overcome with desire he

pulled her close and stroked her face, looking at her attentively. He let his desire move him, it branched

out first with his hands, then with his body as he pressed it against her. A soft sigh escaped her lips and

he shivered with a fevered excitement. Her soft cool hand his face and stroked it gingerly. He pulled

her closer and leaned in for a kiss. The first kiss was raw, an urgent kiss that spoke of danger and the

direness of their situation. Her lips were full and soft, her breath warm and inviting. Their legs twined

beneath the flags and the small charge between them continued to spark. The second kiss was harder,

more patient, an exploration of the other. She found his mouth soft and his jaw strong, he was someone

to admire. How would he respond to her warning? She wondered, for surely she must give him some



hint of what was to come, though she had promised herself not to. She was not sure, amazing as he

was, that he was capable of surviving her embrace.

In the dim moonlight their warm breath rose as phantom forms, that shivered and stilled only to

fade. She shuddered in delight at each kiss, the passion taking her, and that place in the back of her

mind growing. He loved her passionate kisses that matched the hunger and depth of his desire. More

and more he sought to bring her to the fullness of her passion.

Suddenly, she stopped. She held his had the fury taking her, yet her courage stifled her desire,

at least for the moment. She put her finger to his lips to silence the question forming there.

"If we keep going I will hurt you" She said. He looked amused and smiled.

"Then hurt me,” he said and leaned in against her straining to kiss her. She pushed back harder,

and the fierceness in her eyes grew. A strange red glow whispered from the their corners then faded.

"You don't understand, I really will hurt you if we continue, and not in the playful way you are

suggesting." He looked at her now confused.

"I don't understand." He said. "You have seen how resilient I am to harm, surely you cannot

think me incapable of withstanding whatever it is you are afraid of." Anger and Sadness blended and

mixed over her face.

"You really have no idea." She trailed off, and put her face in her hands, sighing deeply.

He reached out and gently pulled her hands from her face. Her tears were streams down her

cheeks, as he put her hands into his.

"Then tell me, tell me why you are so afraid." The moon rose to its fullness in the sky and

began to crest to the horizon. She told him the story of her condition, of the dead lovers, and how she

had never been able to stay with them, or to keep them alive. He listened with great solemnity, nodding

and holding her hands more firmly as she recounted the deaths.

"And so you see why we cannot continue." she whispered finally, and sharply pulled her hands

from his to cover her face again.



He then rushed and embraced her. How could such a slender beauty do such atrocious things?

How could someone so seemingly gentle, kill with such unbelievable violence. It seemed quite

contradictory to him, and yet... he had seen the red flare up when she stopped him, and there were other

things as well.

Accustomed to surviving atrocities her was very daring, he knew he could survive as long as his

head remained intact, and as long as he avoided fire. She was looking at him in apprehension and he

thrust himself at her, he landed his kiss as her hands fluttered, first trying to push him away, then

clawingly, and then she surrendered.

"I don't care about the past." he whispered and kissed her again.

The first bite made his lip bleed, although he could not recall her teeth biting him, the second

landed on his neck, her frenzy grew and a strange buzzing hum sound surrounded him, each bite grew

more severe, yet each was more exquisite and acute. A rhythm emerged, somehow they had become

unclothed, and her pale breasts shone silhouetted in the blue light. The fiery passion between them

burning brighter into a crescendo. His pale skin against hers, and their soft skin blending into shadow

and into shapes, lingering in their minds. She screamed when he entered her, although he was unsure

how he had gotten there, it all seemed so dream like under the moon. Her nails seemed to grow, but

when he focused, which became increasingly difficult they looked the same length. Her hair swam

wildly as she lost herself to abandon. Pearly drops of sweat poured from her brow. Fiercer and fiercer

her biting. Breaking the skin, then tearing the flesh, yet it was delicious, this pain. He was suddenly

beneath her, the moon a cold white halo, silvery grey in the night. A Blackness like a blanket began to

envelop his senses, Lavorna's eyes no longer his the red glare that left traces as she straddled him,

harder and harder her motions, more insistent as if she was reaching for something, as if she was racing

to catch it, to capture and bind it. Then the Blackness enveloped them, and the strange buzzing clearly

audible and faint. Like a screeching, scratching sound of nails drawn across a chalkboard, and teeth of

metal chewing glass.



He lost touch with time and space, sensation became all, their bodies the catalyst for the

strange flight. Then terrible searing pain, blood everywhere, his blood, in great wide arcs flowing from

his body, the snapping of his bones, the breaching of his inner flesh with what felt like teeth, but were

somehow sharper, stronger than teeth. His body convulsed under the hunger for something enormous

that eclipsed both of them, something Divine in its hunger, something beyond comprehension. That

deep insatiable need to devour the other completely, to consume their essence, and bring a more

complete union was at its core, yet here so much more violently expressed. His innards in jaws too

large to fit into her frame, his guts flying, blood flying, and still her astride him, still holding hands, the

strangeness of it all, the horror and the beauty. Sensuality expressed hiding nothing, embracing pain

and pleasure both equally as they were meant. Slowly the haze cleared, and she fell down sideways off

of him, his blood a great pool now that coated their bodies in a filmy sheen. Her blood soaked bosom

and thighs from the splashing slowly falling ground ward. He looked in disbelief at his now empty

abdominal cavity, everything had been torn to bits, all of it had been removed through terrible force.

Lavorna lay on her side now in fetal position. Great shudders shook her body as the pleasure continued

to hit her with its aftershocks. He breathed to find he had very little lungs left, with a coughing bleeding

wheeze managed to utter "Still here" She broke her reverie and kissed him fully then without

compunction or reserve.

PART III:

The Inevitable Outcome Of All Good Things, or, The Tragic Death of True Love...



...And it was a bit of Madness, and a great desperation that seized their hearts. The Abomination

had fled their punishment. He had defied justice, common sense, and reason. They had searched for

hours with boats and had scoured the stream and shoreline for his body to no avail. Not even his clothes

remained. They had sent scouts into the village and all the neighboring towns even so far as to bribe

body snatchers for information, still nothing. No one had seen anything. That they had already seen

him grievous injury and mysteriously survive somehow was loathsome enough, but to imagine that he

had been slain, eviscerated, bled dry and left for the carrion crows was too much, he must be ended.

They were at wits end, and so the villagers cast lots on what to do finally decided to call on THAT

woman. The one who deep within them, they secretly all feared. They had dared not to burn her or go

near her, as they had heard such hideous stories of those who had even tried to. The old crone lived in a

ramshackle hut on the hill just beyond the village. She who was whispered of, but whose name was

never spoken aloud. She whom they called Gentle Annie, the wood witch.

It was with great fear and trepidation that they gathered their strength and their courage and

sent the bravest of them to her. It was at dusk when they arrived, and the long shadows seemed alive

with nameless black entities that danced and mocked them. The path to her hut was filled with bones

and strange carvings with strange stains and a chill that came not from wind, or from height, but

something much more sinister.

The door to her hut was small and solid with a small dark window and a small iron knocker, set

upon great iron hinges that looked sturdier than the hut that held them. Willow trees and oak blew

hazily on the winds, lending a surreal air as the day went to its death.

The Bravest of the brave of them, a stalwart young man with many scars, sword in hand went

forward and knocked on her door. Though he tried to stand steadily, he, along with all the assembled



there shook from the chill, and from the fear wrought of the stories of all those who died in this very

place. Was it their bones hanging from the trees, or was it merely animal bones? who would dare to

guess? But here they were, and they waited.

He knocked again, secretly hoping that no one was home, that no one would come. He wished

that this absurd chase would come to an end, that somehow the angry mob thirsting for blood would be

sated by her non-appearance, and that disillusioned, they would, recede to their normal lives. He was a

strong man, he admitted to himself, but the stories he had heard still lingered. In one final desperate act

he pounded the door until his knuckles bled upon the iron reinforcements. The breeze rose then

howling strangely and a black fog formed that blinded them as night settled.

Strange lights lit themselves silently then foundered, and panic gripped them all. Had they

made a mistake in coming here? Was SHE more of a danger to them than the Abomination? Would she

even help them? They stood trembling with fright. The last light of the day faded. The light blinked out

and they were blinded by the last flash of the sun.

As their eyes adjusted, a dark robed woman stood in the gathering gloom. Her face was darker

than the shadows, and the lines creeping up into her eyes, like some creeping vine growing deep within

the darkness terrified them. They all jumped terrified at her sudden appearance. The door had not

opened, nor had the bolt been thrown back. She had just appeared, from nothing, out of the shadows.

"Why have you come to me here?" She said. Her voice was like scratching leaves, and her

great teeth glinted darkly in their faltering torchlight.

The Scarred One spoke "There is an Abomination that lives near us that we are hunting. This

thing cannot be slain by normal means. We have bled him dry, we have opened him up, and yet he still

lives. The villagers are frightened that some horrible blight will befall us if he is not destroyed. As his



very existence threatens the natural order of life and death."

The Dark One said nothing. They stood in silence for what seemed ages.

"I see no reason to help you." she said. "This being, strange though he is, has not wronged me.

Unless you can give me a reason to help you, that is agreeable, I shall take this as an intrusion and one

of you shall pay a dire price for doing so." A dreadful feeling of violent tension flooded the air. Yet

she stood unarmed and still. Many of them wondered just who it would be that would be chosen to pay

her "price". They looked flittingly amongst themselves.

"Allow me a moment to confer with my comrades." The Scarred one said. They talked among

themselves in the darkness. The faint ghost of their blinking were the only things visible in the night.

There came to light the legend of the dark woman living in the haunted forest, where the Abomination

had vanished. They did not know much of her, only the rumors that she haunted there. They did not

know if the story would help, but they all agreed that he must have fled within the forests which she

haunted.

They turned and the Scarred Brave one spoke "We cannot give you any reason to help us other

than the one we have. We are prepared to die to a man if it will save our village from the consequences

of harboring such a thing within itself. For surely such a thing mocks all creation. The only thing we

can add is that he may have fled into a vast haunted forest near his place of execution, and may be still

lingering there. We have heard tell of a strange woman who is seen there every so oft, who along with

other things, haunts the forest. We do not know who she is, or why she is there, but many men have

gone into those forests and were never seen again."

Again the Crone was silent. They waited while the air rustled through the leaves, and the wind

howled dreadful whispered secrets into their ears. The air suddenly stilled, bristling with a dark energy.



"I have heard of this woman" The Dark One said " Long ago, a great grandson of mine talked of a great

beauty hidden in the forest. He talked endlessly of his love for her, and her fear of him. He left one day

to see her, and was not seen thereafter." She was quiet again, then. Would she agree to help them? Was

her speaking to them a reproach or an approval? With growing trepidation they waited.

"I have no interest in assisting you in finding your quarry." She said "And I will have my

price" They grew frozen in apprehension, "but" she said" I will also avenge my great grandson, and the

one who was responsible for his disappearance." "If your quarry has fled and is currently seeking

shelter with this same woman, then I gain his revenge, and if not, then I gain knowledge of her

whereabouts, regardless. Your coming here made me remember his loss, I thank you for that."

The air surged with a potent force and suddenly one of the villagers screamed and was silent.

His face was a hole with giant teeth marks where a nose and mouth should have been, and he fell,

spurting like a geyser , onto the ground, twitching. She had not moved, so it seemed, and yet a red stain

spread over her sharp black teeth as she smiled.

"Now, bring me fresh implements of torture and pain. Make sure they are stained with blood

and have seen much use. Bring to me too, wood of Elder, Ash, Yarrow, and Blackthorn. As well as the

herbs rue and wormwood and meet me at the place of this mans destruction." She said.

They left then, frightful, yet hopeful, scattering each to a separate destination, gathering those

things that she had required wondering what they could possibly be used for. The screams of the

tortured echoed in the prison. The warden of the prisons thought it a strange request, but assented. It

was towards dusk of the following day that they gathered.



Trees had been felled, wood had been gathered, herbs had been harvested. The great dark stain

where the Abomination had been slain, remained. The sticky souring smell still lingered in the air.

They had assembled what she had asked for in the stain and waited. No one expected her to be present

until sunset, and she arrived as she had priorly after the violent last flash of daylight and in the

gathering gloom.

She stood there, robes folded about her, her white grey hair a stark contrast with her oily black

skin. "You have done well." she said " You may be asking yourself why you were told to bring these

things – you will find out soon enough," a hint of mockery lingered in her voice. "There is a being who

can help us," she said. "This being is sent to punish and destroy in the name of revenge. This being is

said to be able to destroy any living thing, and to be relentless in the pursuit of that goal. This is the

being we will call to go after your Abomination, and to find and avenge my grandson's destroyer."

She then assembled the torture implements and added her own strange cache of iron, and made,

somehow, a simulacrum of a man. She then piled the wood inside and around the base of the figure.

"Now bring me kindling and a billows," she said. They brought what she asked, and she began to say

strange words over the Iron Man. Words in a language that they had never heard but made them feel

icy splinters in their bones. She lit the kindling and began to chant. One word was clear in all of it. She

said it over and over again as the fire crackled and began to grow. "Hananjur, Hananjur, Hananjur!" she

said as the wind howled and as each rise of names faded, she resumed the chant. Then from her robe

she took out a twisted dagger that glowed an eerie green, and sliced her palm with its blade, her dark

oily blood fell as the flames grew, never once did she falter. She had them use the billows to make the

fire roar as she threw in the strange smelling herbs and she continued the chants, for what seemed like

hours. The metal began to glow orange and bright hot, which was warming in the great dark. This was

a great comfort to the villagers, who had been shivering outside for so long.



Louder and more frantic she grew, the sound echoing in the darkness. Was she a crazy

woman? They wondered. What could saying something over and over again with a few herbs thrown

into a fire possibly do? Yet still she continued. They grew tired in the dark, and it seemed that the metal

figures shape had changed somehow, that a face had shaped itself out of the iron, and the white hot

eyes glowed within its metal frame. Perhaps they should all rest to relieve themselves of such strange

hallucinations...

They awoke to a strangled cry in the night. The Man of Iron was strangling the old woman, her

gurgling cries echoing. His great iron hands both firmly on her throat.

She fought frantically to free herself, but as she struggled, he grew brighter, and soon the smell

of smoking flesh filled the air. No words could save her, nor magic from the steadily heating death-grip

that held her. Why was he killing her they wondered. The Scarred one, trying to regain some kind of

control grabbed a log they had not used and smashed the Iron Man strongly on the head to distract him.

The dull thud made no impact. He did not even budge from the force. The Scarred one stood confused.

The Crones face began to smoke and her voice and struggles ceased. Her skin began to bubble and

catch fire, along with her robes. Her face, reduced to ashes caved in on itself and her frame flamed up

and fell smoking into her folded robes. The only remains that were left after the flames ceased were her

terrible iron teeth.

The Iron Man turned. The great mass of villagers grabbed what they could to fight. With their

hopes dashed, they had little belief in survival. The Iron Man turned, his skin again as black as the

night. His eyes flaming a white magnesium flare. They all rushed him at once, his great iron mouth

opened and white hot implements of pain and anguish exploded upon them all...



Hours later in the smoldering charred remains of the bloodies bodies, and severed limbs, with

the smell of cooked flesh in the air he remembered that the Old Crone who had summoned him had

told him his target. Out of boredom and mild curiosity, he left fuming carnage. "Odhrain" he said, the

name a whisper in his great iron mouth. Their pathetic cries of mercy and rage, fading in his memory...

He walked to the waters edge and the ground began to alight, he put his foot forward and grew

white hot. The stream became a giant steam shroud of fog that surrounded him, and he walked along

the dry bed of the steaming stream until he reached the edge of the forest. There, cooling himself again,

he reached out with his senses to find the target he had been called for...

As he walked on the dry land the heat from his flaming ignited the loose leaves and small trees,

starting a minor conflagration. The steam rose into a full fledged fog winding like a creeping hand into

the forest. There it wound up, up, up as heat does, toward the top of the hill. Lavorna and Odhrain saw

the finger of the hand as it crept, lower than the clouds to obscure the moon. The fire spread

sporadically, sparking up trees, in spurts, creating a glowing trail or the Great Iron Man to walk by.

Although he did not need it, it made things easier for him. Clearing as it did, a path, from tree to tree...



The fog rose to full thickness and slowly strangled the castle remains. Lavorna in her lovers

embrace was watching him re-assemble himself in joy and contentment. His entrails squirmed back to

him, his flayed flesh regrew, his innards regrew and re-attached, and slowly his skin sheathed his very

exposed and very raw insides. His ragged skin grew smooth as she held him, and aside from the blood

that caked her naked skin and their shorn clothing, there was no way anyone would have known her

terrible power had caused such destruction.

She lay in the arms of her lover, who was whole again. She was mystified by fate and chance,

and the strangeness of the world. She felt her love, borne of an instant, and yet a seemingly endless

moment, grow.

...and if this was love, it was a love like no other, for no other love could endure the fury, the

frenzy, the passion and the pain all at once than the love between them. They marveled at the horror,

terror and beauty of their union, blood being the catalyst for their violent, yet pure passion...

The fog went for a grip and then strangled the moon. Lavorna had noticed the smell at first,

some kind of metallic burning, Odhrain not fully recovered mentally lay against her soft skin,

oblivious.

"I smell something." she said

"what?" he said weakly " What is it you smell?" She rose to her feet and put him gently down,



quickly throwing on her dress, and walked quietly out of the castle ruins into the edge of the forest,

there she saw more fog, and in the distance, the crackling of fire. The Villagers! They were coming!

She thought immediately of her new found love and the danger this posed and quickly ran inside to

gather him.

"The villagers are coming!" She said. "Quickly!"

"What?" he said "How did they find us, I hear no dogs."

"I don't know, but I smell smoke, I think its torches!" she said" I really don't want to wait

around to find out either."

They gathered their clothing and dressed. Lavorna helped Odhrain stitch the remnants of his

clothes into something wearable using and ingeniously crafted wooden needle. They moved the

bedding and replaced the tapestries yet more and more the feeling of imminent danger seemed to

coalesce with the thickening of the fog. The crickets were not chirping, when they emerged from the

ruins, and closer and closer crept the lights of the torches...

He sensed them now, smelled their flesh. Smelled the red tang of fresh and drying blood upon

them and the acrid piqued smell of sex. How had he come here, to this place? so long had he

slumbered, in darkness and shadows, comforted by the screams of pain the living made, comforted in

those torments that caused the most anguish. All in a beautiful relaxing dream. Ah, he remembered, it

was that Crone, that Old Crone had remembered his name, had found it somehow. Where was she

now? He vaguely recalled screams and choked cries, and the sound of breaking bones, blood smearing

and fire. Yes, that was it, he had killed her, along with all those who had called him, and now to this

man she had called him for.

What a waste he thought, he who could devastate cities, nations, had been called to destroy a

man, one man. He would make short work of this man and then, having completed his task, leave his

new found form, and fall again into the blissful scream filled slumber.



They cleared the edge of the castle, hand in hand, Odhrain leading the way, the night darkening

as the moon set, the strong smell of smoke and the dim spark of fire growing ever closer. Lavorna

heard the splintering of trees and the breaking of branches but strangely, in her hurry, did she notice,

the lack of the sounds of men, or voices.

"Something's wrong" she said, as they hurriedly wound their way through copse after copse of

thick forest trees.

"What do you mean?" he said. "The villagers are chasing us, isn't that enough? I don't hear

anyone." He paused a second in the growing darkness and she pulled his hand to move. "Maybe they

are just further away and we can't hear them with the wind blowing?" he pondered. She urged him

forward through the trees once more, and she spoke, hoping he could hear her as she moved forward.

"No, I checked, I've been listening, besides the sounds of fire, and wood breaking there are no

voices, no footsteps, no murmurs, nothing! Something isn't right!" Realization slowly dawned upon

him and he lead the way more hurriedly.

"I wonder what it could be, or who it is that is following us then?" he said, but a shiver colder

than the his exposed bones crawled up his spine and settled, serpent like in his guts. "I don't know why,

but knowing its not men making all that noise makes me more nervous, not less."

He took his time, following their scent easily, He could see the small traces of their heat

lingering in the darkness. No need to rush them, no need to hasten the inevitable. His iron body cooled,

the sharp implements of torture retracting within him and he glided, effortlessly, through the forest.

The sound of fire had faded and the forest grew silent. Dread filled Lavorna, of a kind she knew

not which, but she gripped Odhrain's hand tightly, determined to get away from danger.

They walked quickly, for what seemed hours, closer and closer to the edge of the forest, which

opened into a barren wasteland, of stark rocks, and low hills. No trees grew in that place, and the

lichens and mold that did had a strange reddish tinge. Strange leather winged things flitted about,

resembling both bird and bat, ,but being neither, and no water ran there, only the occasional brief grey



drizzle, to we, but never satisfy the thirst of the land below.

As they neared the edge of the clearing hope filled their hearts that they had somehow eluded

their pursuer. They walked now slowly, barefoot as they were, through the edge of the forest and into

this harsher, and much more perilous wasteland.

Lavorna's dress trailed behind her, the wind caught her hair as she held his strong yet soft

hands. They moved forward as one, in synch, as a unit, their hearts now relaxing, filling with the

thoughts of their passionate moments of joy.

As they entered the clearing, the faint smell of smoldering iron drifting towards them, Lavorna

turned and Odhrain with her to look into the face of terror...

There in the clearing stood an iron monstrosity, its eyes flaming yellow and orange from some

strange inner life within it. It had made no sound as it walked, yet the weight and the strength of it,

there could be no doubt. A cruel face made of Iron and the Mockery of a mouth lay beneath the eyes,

and everywhere great iron spikes, like jagged teeth. Panels with hinges that opened into things the

imagination did not want to ponder overmuch upon, abounded.

It stood five heads taller than the tallest man they had seen, and its shoulders were as wide as

the mouth of any castle port. The air vibrated with a strange dark vibrancy that made no sense, and its

unnatural existence filled the pair with nausea. They were frozen in terror at being discovered and all

the joy within them fled, as surely as if they had been suspended head first in glacial ice.

The Mouth opened then and the eyes flared, smoldering with a fire that seemed eternal within

it, grinding metal and spikes, twisted to form words, that seemed to form from their moving, yet had a

source that resided elsewhere.

"Odhrain" the grinding voice said and the peril of their situation landed on them in full force.



"Run!" he said as the Iron Giant advanced, he shoved Lavorna forward and she stood aghast

and conflicted, wanting to stay with him, after searching for so long,and saving her own skin. "Run!"

he said again. "I mean it, it only wants me, GO!" and he pushed her until she almost stumbled, she

inched away letting go of his hand, of her dreams of happiness, of her hope for the future, of the

endless search of her life, finally solved. She stood then, moving slowly, watching him, panicked.

"What can I do!?" "I don't want to leave you!" she said.

"Go. I am glad to have known you, to have loved you, if even briefly, but I do not know how

this will turn out, and I want one of us to survive, if even only to keep that memory alive." He shoved

her a third time, and she fell backwards, her body landing on a soft patch between the rocks. He turned

then to face his enemy.

"What is it you want of me?" he said to the Iron Man that advanced, solidly like a wall towards

him. But there was no reply, only the cold metal face of the monster closing in on him...

Lavorna pushed herself away from Odhrain on the ground, still staring up at him, she moved

to seat herself on a rock, she could not bear to see him harmed, yet more so she felt helpless and

wanted to be there for him if there was any chance of saving him.

Odhrain grabbed a large rock an threw it at his enemy. It made a loud clang upon the metal of

the thing, but not a scratch was upon it. He began hurling every rock he could find, but nothing seemed

to slow the Great Iron Man. The Iron Man seized Odhrain's arm in a hand lined with sharp spikes, he

screamed as his bones cracked and splintered, and he dropped his would-be projectile. His other hand

came up to free the arm from the crushing grip only to be impaled and injured by more spikes. he

managed then to throw his feet forward against the hulking thing and pull the shattered remains of his

hands free. He concentrated and regrew his bones, then his skin, moved tot he left of his opponent. The

things head swiveled freely as well as its body without taking a step or changing position.



Again Odhrain pelted the thing with rocks, smaller this time, hoping to find some weakness,

some chink in the armor, anything he could exploit to his advantage. Nothing worked, the stones he

threw did nothing. For this was living iron, something not of this world, and being the minds of men to

comprehend. Suddenly the great bulk of the chest opened faster than Odhrain could blink, and he was

seized on both sides with large wide bars laden with spikes, and pierced by sharp hooks attached to

chains that lodged in his chest. Blood flew everywhere and as Odhrain tried to extract himself the worst

possible thing imaginable began to occur. The Iron Man began to glow, dim orange at first, then

brighter, the into a full white glow shining in a matter of seconds. The internal cavity to which he was

being drug wavered to Lavorna's sight from the heat and she sprung to her feet to grab him form the

jaws of death. She grabbed his free hand and began to pull, but the spikes had pierced bone, and blood

fell in a steady stream on the ground. As she pulled, she realized how surely he was held, the hook like

iron spiders had pierced ribcage and Odhrain spit blood, wavering in and out of consciousness. She

pulled on his hand falling to the ground, hoping to wrench him free, yet no matter how she pulled, the

spikes held, with a seemingly unnatural grip. Odhrain began to scream as the heat seared his skin,

knowing he cold not regrow it, know he faced his final doom. The fires within the monster seemed to

grow at each shriek, at each yell, as if feeding on the anguish he was undergoing. His body began to

smolder, and tears began to fall down his face as he tried to pull away. She held his hand, bravely,

solidly, as he was burned alive. He managed to turn his head one last time before the flames began to

melt it, and to his and her horror the head completely opened, and spiked bars like those in its chest

white hot and searing sliced through the skin of his skull, the flap of the iron that had made a face, now

laying completely open, at the sides, as if on hinges. He moved to say I love you through his choked

screams as the metal hulk engulfed him its mouth and searing heat, and then he was gone. She was still

holding his hand, but there was nothing attached to it, not wrist, not arm, just the pale hand that had

once loved her, that and the ashes that fell from the thing that had killed him. Once he was gone the



things lit up and the ground smouldered, she was afraid and readied herself for death, putting up her

arms to shield herself from the heat.

The things head closed and the eyes glared deeply at her, with a cold indifference that made its

cruelty that much more malignant, yet it ignored her and threw its arms up in triumph, creating a

conflagration on the ground that lay below, that made the very rocks glow orange, and the vegetation

smoke for hundreds of feet. She backed away, her face singed, her tears instantly drying, her mind

awash with what new horror was in store for her. Then, without warning, the form foundered the metal

wavered, and the Iron Man grew dimmer, and dimmer until quite to her disbelief, it fell still, then

silent, and slowly fell apart. The mountain of metal fell , piece by piece into a pile that made a black

core to the scorched land that surrounded it. Yet, as massive as it had, the small implements of torture

and scraps of iron could not account for the size the thing had become, or the grim and great efficiency

it possessed. The silence was deafening then, her hands still grasping all that remained of him, her

singed cheeks and hair cooling in the fresh night air. She stood for a long time, in shock, not wanting to

move, not wanting to breathe, and the endless woe that had followed her, possessed her. Again and

again, she wept. Knowing that the fates had been both cruel and kind, to show her true love only to

seize it horribly from her, and to leave her in misery and despair. She kissed his hand gingerly and

putting it in the hem of her dress, left slowly back into her forest, forlorn and haunted by the memories

of what could have been, and the horrors of the night...

.

lavorna with janice notes 7.23.11 - copy

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