At first, when the waters showed me the Lady, I thought she was a sister of The Jesus, for she smiled at me. But when I gave her another looksee, I knew she was also Devil, for she comes from the Blackash and was broken.
Her flesh is white, stuck inside twisted glass that bends and curls—one arm reachin’ out to me, the other at her side, her fingers clenched in an angry fist.
And if I look into her black eyes? I see fings. Twistin’, turnin’ fings.
She tells of dark, doomy worlds, of peoples and places, and of shadows where horrors lurk. Stories that play out in front of me as if I was there.
But hark! Her lips begins to dance! Serpents that whisper and hiss. Words that spin and curl, twistin’ and swirlin’ and I can do nothin’ but watch, watch, watch…"
The Petrol Redhead
How To Make It Up To Julia
Balancing the Books
Escaping the Cradle
The Jupiter Stone
Blessed Art The Children
Race To The Run-To