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Agatha’s Hag – End piece.

Oil Painting by Russian Artist Valery Veselovsky

The stinker continues.  Click the picture, something is bound to follow.  H xxx

Another thousand turns of the wheel passed, and Agatha noticed a change. Consequences of her actions were stripped from her, impregnated within her.  The foulness grew within her, and, after swelling beyond measure, she delivered beasts of unspeakable horror. Beasts she devoured, restoring her flesh ever so slightly, but enough to keep her in the pseudo lifelike state she now dwelled within.  She had given no thoughts to consequence prior, no desire in her previous life to waste thought and energy upon them, only now cowering before all that she had deliberately ignored for so long and the souls that suffered at her hand.  Cause and effect.  Now the effect towered above the cause, regardless of whomever, unknown or known to her the people may have been.  The pain the worst of all the Hag had dealt her.

The Hag stopped.

And started.

Again, and again, until finally she was done.

Light, stark brilliant holy white light destroyed all of the grey in the pocket of time.  Shadows destroyed, fleeing before it, the dark moving fast than light, and a voice crashed upon her, into her, through her. Agatha finally stood after an age of the onslaught of light, now only hearing the voice that ensnared her, encapsulated her. Her, a scarred, haggard humanoid.  Hairless, genderless and defiled. The Hag had gone, or so she thought. Within the mirror that grew before her, she saw the Hag.

‘You now are fit to join my choir of angels,’ said God, ‘as you have now learnt of all that is evil in the soul, and that evil is now drawn from you. Join me now, or remain in the purgatory you have endured so long.’

Agatha hobbled forward to God. Hag and an angel in one.

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About Hamish Ross

Indie writing at its most dubious.

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Hamish Ross

Hamish Ross

Indie writing at its most dubious.

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