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The terminal, scintillating amber-golden rays of the western setting sun and their long, heavy, sullen shadows elongated across the soft undulating fields below the imposing, snow-capped southern Carpathian mountains, as our coach meandered along the punctated, uneven path. And in the northeasterly sky, rising with a steady but intoxicated indifference, the scarleted shine of the full blood moon signaled the impending ascendance of twilight and a comforting decrescendo from the exuberance of the day’s revelries.
     The day’s festivities had been consumed with the most spectacular and ostentatious indulgences within the citadel at Poenari Castle, where the Voivode of Wallachia, Vlad Tepes himself orchestrated the various features of the bacchanalia. The nature of the celebration was two-fold. The primary focus of adulation was in regards to the upcoming sabbat of Samhain, and the commencement of a three week period of celebratory events to honor the thinning of the veil between the worlds of the living, and that of the dead. The secondary aspect of the merrymaking was much more personally gratifying - a celebration of the recent bestowal of myself and the lady Cynthia Ann with the entitlement of Count and Countess, upon the acquisition of a southward facing hillside parcel of land near Praid, in Hargita County, Transylvania. On this occasion, Tepes demonstrated a particularly affable disposition, having recently expelled the Ottomans from Wallachia, and he was enthusiastically supportive of our acquisition, and of adopting this mysterious and bewitching land as our own. And we were certainly eager to ingratiate ourselves to him, with great hopes of avoiding the same fate as the thousands of enemy soldiers, whose bodies, at the base of the mountain, were impaled onto wooden stakes, in horrifying, grotesque and ungodly configurations, and left to rot and putrify under the harsh elements of the Carpathians.
     As we traversed the sublime countryside, the monotone clopping rhythm of the horses pulling from the front lent a hypnotising dissonance to our endeavor, where inside the coach, I sat in contented silence, pondering the myriad events which had recently transpired. My physical body was exhausted from the uproariousness of the day, but my mind was still racing with excitement, reeling from the myriad conversations and exclamatory interactions at the soiree, and of contemplating the exhilarating possibilities which were presenting themselves to the Countess and I in our newfound life and land. With this thrilling cacophony of thoughts and visions reverberating through my mind, I was again, as always, compelled into the more lustful preoccupation upon the beautiful creature I beheld before me.
     The Countess Cynthia Ann was by far more taken by the day’s jubilation and was thoroughly consumed by a deep-set tiredness. She rested peacefully, with her body half reclined to her left side in the rear seat of the coach, her head cradled within the folds of the crimson pillowed, velveted lining of the carriage walls. I gazed upon her with a carnal passion, an electric, magnetic and covetous desire, and the profound satisfaction that because she was mine, all of my various sensual appetites and ****** desires would be, one by one, fulfilled at length.
Her eyes remained softly closed as I indulged my ravenous vision to engorge myself with all the sensuousness that lay before me.
     The net stockings that gripped her legs, which were visible from above the top of the tall, black leather boots that reached almost unto her knees, stretched higher on her thighs, to where they were  encircled by a red lace band which itself disappeared under the rufflements of her gown, which was markedly shorter in the front than to behind. I stared with a desirous and hungry gaze, lusting over the contours of her legs, and filled with the titillating perception that each small, diamond shaped hole in her stockings was itself a window unto the soft, porcelain skin which laid beneath. Had it not been for sheer exhaustion, this sight alone would have been enough to pull me straight into eagerly satiating my rapacious urges.
     Lifting my gaze slightly, I regarded with great admiration and desire, the corset she wore above her hips. Each and every fine, silver embroidered tracery outlined the underlying whalebone structure within, and produced such an elegant and magnificent pedestal upon which her ******* were the crown. For many dozens of breaths, I watched with an animalistic desire to play ravenous physicality onto her forms, how her chest rose and fell with quiet rhythmicity of slumber, and how the totality of her feminine attributes filled me with an insatiable carnal passion for her intimacy.
     Similarly, my eyes journeyed along the lengths of the black lace and sheer gloves that she wore. The fingerless ends of her long and delicate gloves converged over her hands, which had both found a place of rest upon her left thigh. I followed the wider silver laces that zig-zagged up through each and every delicate, light-colored grommet, over and above her elbows and ending in a slightly thicker band of floral garter which supported them before reaching the shoulders.
Here, my eyes followed the lines of the two straps that crossed just below her collar bones as they found their attachment into a black velvet choker that encircled her neck. Naturally, I was then drawn to derive a burning adoration as I marveled at the long, straight strands of chestnut brown hair that flowed like a waterfall from the apex of her head into a curtain of soft filaments that draped delicately across her shoulders. Resting there, slightly above the top of her forehead, was a black wire tiara, dotted with amethyst, garnet and a thin silver line of embellishment along the frame. And, as if promulgated by the corona itself, filling the interior of the coach was the subtle but distinctive scent of thyme and artemisia that wafted from her hair and filled my soul with such a soothing, warm comfort, that even consumption of the finest absinthium spirits could not provide such profound solace. Her canine familiar, our robust and golden cocker spaniel, laid longways on the tufted seat to her right, and with a heavy drowsiness, rested his head upon her hip, as they both were gently jostled by the unremitting protuberances of the trail.
     In this glorious moment, I was thoroughly contented and satisfied to have been given the blessed opportunity to gaze longingly upon the Countess, my loving and beautiful bride, while my mind again drifted into the fancies and possibilities which lay before us, where of most urgency and gratification, was to embark upon developing the small protectorate which we had established, here in Transylvania. And as my eyes fell shut with a heavy sluggishness, I could nearly feel the cool, moist grit of the Transylvanian soil between my fingers, and the sweet, earthen smell of petrichor lulled me deeper into the entrancing spell of our newfound home.
Copyright ©2025 by D B Sullivan. All rights reserved. This work may not be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system, without the prior written permission of the author.
Din graiul tău, se-nalță veșnicie,
Pe buze tremuri, cald ca o cântare.
Mi-ești lege, dor și sfântă temelie,
Un far de foc, în nopți fără hotare.

Sudoare, jertfe, veacuri de durere,
Fii punte, peste timpi ce ne separă.
Din dorul tău, să naștem mângâiere,
Mândră ești, a noastră pururi țară!
Creepypastafairy Dec 2024
I am the zombie flea
Left for dead
Resurrected by hope
As now pain
No fear
And astronomical
Strength physically
And emotionally
For I am half dead
From my beginnings
A zombie
adi Apr 2022
A fost *** a fost si n-a mai fost niciodată,
Un mare prost și ea o mare proastă.
Un tâmpit grozav și ea puțin tâmpită,
A fost de la început încrezător și ea nedumerită.

1-2-3-6 plozi,
Fiecare dintre ei puțin mai debili,
Când a murit el, a ieșit al 8-lea și ea a surâs,
La cât de prost era nu și-a dat seama,
Că el trăgea cu gloanțe oarbe, iar poștașul cu ghiuleaua.

Dar scrisorile au devenit emailuri, că era și vremea,
Alocația a crescut la fel ca și inflația,
Din 1-2-3-6-8 plozi,
Doi sunt antreprenori și doi sunt scriitori,
Doi sunt virgini,
Iar restul, muncitori pe șantier,
Îi întrețin.
Starry Aug 2019
To tanta
My birth mother
I know that you
Tried your might
To make me a future
Despite your abusive husband
Thank you for everything
My ptsd is not your
Fault.
Starry Aug 2019
To my birth father
You are a
Freaking dirt bag
For not getting a
Job and leaving me to be
Tortured for two
Flipping years
Thanks a bunch
Deadbeat
Toxic yeti Mar 2019
As the janicrary
Come to
Claim Wallachia
And again the notice a
Forest of impaled plague
Victims
Vlad’s why of terror
Through Plague.
Terrified the enemy runs away.
well here it is:

as a good-hearted crazy boy as I am
I can be fixed only by a woman
on the last gear of speed
like a herd of mustangs in gallop
to the abyss or to eternity

a woman who dedicates me poems of hate
in which I'm the last provincial old man
the princess can fall in love with
but actually the joy is shaking whitin
any time she feels me arround

a woman dressed only in swords of Toledo
who can sing on a sword like Mariza
making me climb on the walls
like on the Chinese Wall on the moon

a woman that resists any melalcoholical drubbing
on rithmes of sirtaki with Zorba the Greek
with her heart blowned out of her mind
carelessly throwned like underwear through  the room

a long-time woman to lead my way
and night in sleep and life in death
and my god in all its demons of beauty
with the most innocent baby smile

a woman that on the last outpost of her ******
like a wild goddess will laugh and explode the night
as if as if ordering
the happiest end of the world
This is a love statement and will be considered as it is. I walked the worst moments through my life alone. I do'nt need anyone. If youre in my life is because I value your presence and I want you there. like a turbo truck on the road.
Miss Clofullia Mar 2017
it was a normal day:
in the metro, a tall guy was giving
oral stress to his girlfriend
for spending too much time on her phone,

angry mothers were killing it at Fruit Ninja,
aiming only for the green items;
all because of some article on vegans
they read on Bored Panda,

students were kicking it on Tinder,
deciding their political views
in the same time,
with simple left & right swipes,

Romanian women were being abused
in Italian FarmVille games,
while the cucumber production
was growing and growing,

it was a bad day for poetry;
all the good words were on strike!
the streets were empty
and all the traffic lights were red.

I was still hoping there was hope in this world.

[https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Cdvk7O3Tz6A]
Miss Clofullia Feb 2017
We'll never be able to change the world
We don't even have the means to change our ******* wallpaper!

We are protesting against
all the unfair things that our government is doing,
in the same way we go to church:
preachers and inciters, daily,
some of us do it on Sunday,
others only when a big religious event comes around the corner;
some of us never go,
and only end up thinking about it
before going to bed,
alone,
in our room,
in the dark.

We seldom forget that we came to this world
with the only mission of making ourselves unforgettable.

We have mixed feelings
about all the calls to action
that we stumble upon in the
***** wide web,
we feel guilt and
despair when it is too late
and regret not doing the right things
or doing them wrong,
we are not model citizens,
we are just fake people
that work from time to time as holy fashion models.

Forgive us for lying to ourselves
when we're lying in bed,
naked,
isolated.
Forgive us for not having a voice
when the choir needed us.
Forgive us for making excuses
for all the bad excuses we had.
Forgive us for all the love that
you haven't had the chance to give us.
Forgive us for
not wanting to be forgiven.

we are not gods.
you are not gods.
gods are not good.

We'll never be able to change the world,
but we're hoping to be the ones that are changed by it.

[https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ELKbtFljucQ]
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