Greetings, peeples, my name is Memrat. For those of you who want to be friendly or stalk worthy creepy can call me Mema. I'm going to warn those of you who have dared to click on this page: I NOT WRITE WELL VERY. Or I'm just not skilled in the ways of the keyboard and the pen and the pencil and the ways of life. I choose to write as practice. My friend or as I like to call my worst possible nightmare in the whole world who torments me with her superior talent and demands that I bless the earth she walks on Arch-demon-rival, Olri, wants me to write a story with her. So I decided to test out my skills and see what any reviwers might want to say about my terrible writing to see if I can improve by the time Olri decides to force me to write. That is if people are kind enough to review.

Moving along in a more plot finding direction, this is a story I made up on a whim. I might continue it if I get one reviewer or at least twenty views, but that's a very perilous if. Once the story moves on to chapter two the title will be made clear but if not, then hell, I gave this a really freaky weird title. So go on, if you're brave enough to venture, into this story and read. And if you'd like to make me smile, review, even if you just want to bash at me and rant how I should never write again. I'll reply to any comment if you want (if you don't ever want to hear from me again just say so). Anyways, here is chapter one.


The full moon hung in the night sky, a glaring eye radiating blue light unto the uncontrollable world. Wolves raised their heads in penitence for their feral ways and howled to the stars above the trees. The scene below the moon was desolate. A copse of tall oak trees nearside a dull gray building. No one but the wolves ran about the woods. The scene was empty and after the deep throated howling, the air was still.

A new voice rose into the night sky. A timorous, almost hesitant voice that steadily grew stronger. It ascended in pitch and became a powerful melody that seemed to make even the stars tremble in tune. While not exactly beautiful it held a sway of pleasant notes. The voice was that of a young girl.

Held in the gray prison, the girl sat on the bench in her cell and sang. Her cell was only as wide as a coffin. She kept a dirty glass of water by her side and paused in her singing to take a sip. Wearing only a thin simple dress, she grew cold in the chill of the night. She hugged herself and shivered to retain some small amount of warmth. The singing kept her mind from freezing.

She sang on and on with almost no break. With a small smile on her lips she promised herself to sing until the sun rose. She would not allow the prison to capture her voice. She sang to quell the fears within herself. She sang to take her mind off the execution that would take place as soon as the sun showed itself in the east.


The crowd gathered to witness the execution of Drayel Gabryle, the Pure Doll of Charon's Church. Crows cawed into the raw sky as people took their place in the town square. Everyone wore a look of disbelief and talked excitedly among themselves. Woman shook their heads and men patted their wives on the shoulder. A Pure Doll being hung to death? The concept of one of the church's precious lapdogs being killed for a crime against the crown was nearly impossible to fathom. Yet there the girl was standing below the dangling noose, waiting to be killed.

"Drayel Gabryle," announced the official town judge, standing in his prominent robes, "you have sinned upon the day of waning moon the eleventh week and will now be persecuted for your crime." He nodded to the executioner, a muscular brute donning a black mask. The executioner gave a nod back and strode forward to place the noose around Drayel's skinny neck.

"You have insulted royalty, the proud princess Clairea, by painting a portrait showing her appearing as an old hag."

The mumuring rose in crescendo. They all remembered the account of the small girl before them presenting a picture of the princess. The face had been a wrinkled mess, the eyes slumped crevices, the mouth a wizened hole.

Drayel tried not to listen to the judge's words. She watched as the crowd stared back at her with fascinated faces. They all knew of the girl's gift. The gift to paint the future of her models.

"Your painting has been burned and all instruments used in its making has been destroyed. Now all that is left is you. You will die today in front of hundreds of witnesses who will see you struggle as you attempt to hold on to the tiniest thread of life."

Drayel began to take slow steady breath, relishing the taste of the cold air. She would never again feel the weak sun on her face or taste the wind . These were her last moments. She thrust her face into the sky, to stare at the lingering clouds. Would she soon watch the world from up there, sitting higher than the crows that waited to feast on her corpse?

Drayel refused to cry, refused to let a single tear travel across her cheek. Memories of her childhood washed over her, of leaving home at age twelve to live at the church, being appointed as a Pure Doll, praying daily by the hearth in the church alongside her friends, and watching her mother sicken and waste away in the church's infirmary. Drayel only regretted that she would never see the face of her elder brother again.

Suddenly the ground below her fell away. Without warning, the time of her execution was at hand.

Drayel swung wildly; feet flailing helpless in the air. The drop had not broken her neck, but the rope has torn into the soft flesh of her neck. Drayel wanted to raise her hands to her throat to rip the accursed rope off, but with her hands bound she could do nothing. She tried to close her eyes, but it was as if her vision had been burned open. Every gasp for breath was painful as the corners of her vision became a fiery crimson. It was as if her eyes were glaring into a sunset. Her neck thrummed with the blood pounding against the veins in her throat. Breathing became impossible within seconds.

Then as a crow let out a single caw counting the death toll, Drayel died. Blood from her neck dripped onto the ground and seeped into the vessels of the earth.