Six Sentence Sunday - The Prophet and the Crown II: Descent

        Almost as mind rending as those terrible vignettes of torture that Mary refused to see anymore was the voice that rose and fell in a singsong, drawing ever closer from behind.  The voice itself was warm and inviting, as sweet as a kindly preacher praying earnestly for your soul.  But the man – no the Beast – that uttered those gently spoken words was no preacher.  Not even close. 

            He sang out, “Mary, Mary, quite contrary.  Are you here, my lovely little slut?”

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