Doug returns home, a few of his pals meet with him at the local bar. He starts to pick up the sound of whispers.

A cloaked figure keeps a close eye on Doug. Then the whispers become louder like a sound of a swarm of bees. Doug frantically pulls at chains which wrap themselves around him like magick.

The whispers make Doug wince in pain. He starts to tremble. He notices his feet begin to extend. His nails end up piercing right through his shoes. His muscles bulge…ripping his expensive suit into shreds like it was only a piece of paper, and not silk! Doug falls to the ground, as his bones expand…making him feel as though they were going to pierce him from the inside..and be able to be seen poking out from some parts of his body. The whispers die down.

The only thing that is heard after the end of that is bones of the others (who were present in the room) being crushed between a massive set of razor (shark like) teeth. This thing extends its claws, & desires much more flesh with a hunger that is three-fold greater than that of Lamia! If you come across this creature, you better have a plan to flee, otherwise you will not live to see another day/night. Reports from one of the nearby stations of the murders had only one known survivor: Doug. They couldn’t pin point his exact whereabouts. He was not dead, only…missing.

#Three-Fold! (c) 10.10.2022

In this life and all the ones after.

"I love you," whispered he in my ear. He said. So then why, not even a year later, has the Priest ordered his mouth stitched, his eyes the same, doctor with needle and thread? And the shears he cut hair with not fifteen minutes ago. The harlot screamed, cursed revenge upon all who defiled him, damned him to their scorning fire. Something, perhaps the devil itself heard him. For when his breathing halted, his chest stuttered no more; dead, the boy did not stop screaming. And he was not alone. In pain and with no Earthly answer did they die. And he rose again.

The despondent soul travelled. Long after his body was buried and gone. He would always awake again. In the gays, in the not, in those who hated, and those who loved. Ones with seventeen wives, ones with one singular link to this wretched world, one who yearned to kill and put to end such vile sin. Each and every time his hands stained with blood. Each and every time he killed his own kind. It was evil and it was cruel and Aster will surely die without Wilhelm by his side.

A curse for so many hundreds and hundreds of years and a hundred more. Perhaps, at long last, broken by a love that would not succumb. Wilhelm, no matter what Aster's prolific, vengeful howls said, did not let what he felt falter. Wilhelm dead. Aster clinically deranged.

"Jesus Christ, you're killing me Lucy!"

Lucy picked up the gun she dropped. "Sorry Jules!" Lucy reloaded it and blasted at the monster rushing toward them. The two of them stood back to back as they shot at the growing crowd of creatures surrounding them. Jules swore as her weapon stopped firing, and started cracking it onto the creatures skulls.

"Great, great, we're dead!" Jules laughed hysterically. "We might have survived if you could stop dropping your weapons!"

Behind her, Lucy was clawed in the chest, and dropped dead. Jules sighed and stopped firing, succumbing to her demise.

Jules dropped the control on her bed and fell backwards. "You always die first!"

"And you're always right after." Lucy grinned and checked her phone. "I gotta go. Got a club tomorrow morning."

"Want me to drive you home? It's kinda dark."

Lucy waved her off. "It's not a far walk, plus the weather is nice tonight. I'll see you tomorrow!"

Jules waved and turned back to the screen. She regretted how she said goodbye to Lucy. Not even saying a word, not looking at her face.

Because Lucy was gone, and Jules was always right after.

A piano plays and echoes in the dark halls.

In the middle of the night, a petite form leaves the safety of her room. Little Alba, with her black braids, thin nightgown, and petite feet, follows the enchanting music. In her tiny hands, she wields a brass candle holder which carries her only source of light.

She passes by paintings of old and illuminates their disfigured forms. A weeping man made out of men; a mentally split madman; a queen soaked and dyed red; and a woman surrounded by dead birds, carrying an axe in hand.

Alba arrives at the music room and on her tiptoes, peeks through the keyhole. A grand ball takes place with light-footed dancers and their talented pianist. The ash-gray dancers with feather-like steps mournfully graced the ballroom floor. Their pianist, dressed fully in black, his back to Alba, craftily performs his art.

To little Alba, this was a fairytale scene. So, with curiosity beckoning her, she gently opens the ballroom door. Only slightly did she open the door when the pianist glance behind and caught her. Alba gasps!

The musician's face was nothing more than a skull staring furiously yet never ceases his craft. Alba could only stare when a tall figure from behind closes the ballroom door for her. The little girl turns around and meets her lord of the manor, her father.

"Not yet. It's not your time."

"When?" asked Alba innocently.

"When you've lived a full life, then you will join them."