Page 88 of Grotesque Love

wheretrue evil grows.

Blood bound in the shadows,

Death intertwines with fate.

Where the demons linger,

Remain memories of hate

Transformed by dark magic,

Souls twist into stone,

The guardians of Clifton Manor,

Cursed forever to atone.

It amuses me to think that the gargoyles decorating the manor are supposedly souls trapped on the estate because this is where they died. My family legacy is a tainted one, but it’s why I do not fear death. Because if the Clifton family curse is real, I will be with my little Rapunzel forever. Haunting her. Watching over her. She’ll be mine. For eternity.

In this life or the next, there will be no escape for her.

I exhale a plume of heady smoke as Danvers knocks. “Sir, I’ve dug that hole you asked for.”

He stands in the doorway of my museum, mud-streaked face avoiding my glare. I snort. “Good, it’s about time you made yourself useful around here.”

He clears his throat awkwardly as he wrings his hands. “Where’s the girl?”

Danvers has been a loyal companion, part of the staff here since I was a boy, but he is weak. Soft. He knew he’d made a mistake when I’d come home to find my quarry brighteyed with flushed cheeks.

Arianwen was supposed to be kept safe. Cared for. But he let her ruin that with his careless ministrations.

“She’s where she’s meant to be, covered in my cum, waiting at my altar,” I hiss. “No thanks to you.”

The old man blinks, and scrubs at the back of his neck nervously. “I didn’t know she was hiding the pills, sir.”

Of course he didn’t. He was probably too consumed with his current obsession to do the job I asked of him. It had been him who’d found Arianwen for me originally, pointing out the cheerful little girl with the silvery blonde hair.

I knew instantly it was my role to protect her, to keep his grubby little hands away from her. He likes them young, innocent and soft, but this one was always meant to be mine.

“You are afforded a very nice life, Danvers.” My lip curls in disgust, at the muddy boot prints he’s leaving in my hallowed space. “You have free reign of this place when I’m not here. You’re paid well. Rewarded often. I have even helped you with your little…predilection, and you couldn’t even keep my Rapunzel locked away safely in her tower.”

My money and power has bailed the stupid groundskeeper out on more than one occasion. It is amazing how easily cold hard cash can make people forget truly awful things, and somehow turn even a disgusting predator into a friendly neighbour.

“It looked like she was swallowing them! But she musta tricked me,” he protests, voice raised.

“Yes, she ‘musta’,” I muse, unimpressed.

The damn hole he has dug had better be deep enough this time. I don’t want anything rising in the mud this winter when the ground is sodden and soaked.

No doubt he’ll be nagging my ear off at the end of the week about the new gargoyle that has appeared as another soul falls prey to Clifton Manor. The superstitious old man is convinced the curse is real and often tries counting the statutes, but he loses track, mumbling and moaning about how they ‘musta moved’.

Stubbing out my cigar, I decide my princess has waited for me long enough.

“Are you calmer now, princess?” I ask her, stroking my finger down her tear-streaked cheek and wrapping a tendril of hair around my finger.

She nods meekly, not meeting my gaze.

It won’t do to keep her hair this unruly. This wild.

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