Welcome to the Wakefield Doctrine (the theory of clarks, scotts and rogers)
This is the Six Sentence Story bloghop.
Denise is reputed to be the host and is notorious for insisting that all stories be of six sentences in length. No more. Not less.
(Thought you might appreciate the heads up, ya know?)
Previously, on the ‘the Whitechapel Interlude‘…
Count Cyrus St. Loreto was a man of ritual and tradition, it was this focus, that made his capacity to be aware of the smallest detail nothing less than breath-taking. The reaction of the castle’s domestic staff to his announcing he’d walk down the winding drive to the gate to greet his guests was tribute to their loyalty and no small measure of their acknowledgement of his will. There are some who say that it was not knowledge of Good and Evil that lay hidden within a particular fruit in a certain Garden, rather, some say, it was a far more insidious philtre: appetite. It’s effect on the First Man, (and Second Woman), was immediate and fatal. The couple, formerly of Paradise, knew desire at the price of serenity. Appetite is, at its heart, a verb.
This week’s prompt word:
DEAL
“Anselm, you know, I’m not quite what I seem, don’t you?”
At Mother Schader’s insistence, we planned to make the carriage ride from Bucharest to Brașov over the course of two days; Sarah and I were willing to make it a single day’s trip, a fresh team of horses along the way, but agreed to the more moderate itinerary.
Actually, I had a small hand in her acquiescence, explaining we would lose nothing but time by stopping for the night at Câmpina, the near-halfway point; some instinct within spoke to the wisdom of meeting the Count in early afternoon, over late at night.
Upon reflection, Sarah not only did not share a sense of caution, she became increasingly energetic as we settled in the brougham for the morning’s ride.
“You are wise, Anselm, the whispers of our brethren back in Whitechapel regarding un-named creatures that roam the night around Brașov, things to be feared, should be respected.”
My sister in the Order, (my lover in our souls), gazed out the side window as road climbed the rocky flank of the Carpathian mountains that reluctantly submitted to Man’s will; there was a flare of red in her eyes, like a sole Red Queen in the first deal of a two-handed game of whist, that spoke of the hunter far more than the hunted.
About clarkscottroger
Delicious anticipation of what might be to come, especially in that final sentence. A splendid Six, sir!
thanks, Chris!
I am always envious of your ability to pack so much into these
I’m doing the same with your new serial… most excellent wordage
I liked this reasoning for delaying the journey a day: “we would lose nothing but time”. I am going to have to remember to use it.
This was one of those choices that provide much of my enjoyment in writing these Sixes… originally I had ‘all we would lose would be some time” but, upon finding the tighter (and semi-reversed word order) realizing that although the thought was the same, the expression was much more satisfying.
Love the opening line. Hopefully, we’ll find out much more about Cyrus St. Loreto aka Count Cyrus St. Loreto. Although something tells me….we may never have a clear idea of who or what he is. I’ll settle for “mystery” at this point.
Let’s jump right to the last sentence! Sarah’s “ride along” is gearing up for the meet with the Count. Should be entertaining. I’m feeling a little bad for Anselm – he appears clueless what/who is traveling with them, lol
It really keeps me wanting to follow your story
Thanks, Larry
Beautiful suspense, well written. Thank you.
He has no clue what he’s letting himself in for, does he.
You got the Goth factor gothing so good! Love the line: “regarding un-named creatures that roam the night around Brașov,”
Creepy! The locations work so well and are almost characters themselves.
Also love the images for:
“there was a flare of red in her eyes, like a sole Red Queen in the first deal of a two-handed game of whist, that spoke of the hunter far more than the hunted.”
Thanks, Ford.
Blues in A minor… a setting like darkest Romania is surely the Autotune of goth and horror fiction writers