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Chapter 4 Scene 3

Chapter 4 Scene 4

Chapter 5 Scene 4

The mightily rambunctious, split/kerosenial’steamer
locomotionner -

‘The ‘HeisenHowsenne’
‘IronHorsener’.

S’was well on its way out af’ Bataskerville Rowe.
S’was in fact stations’ on; steaming across flatland, well shot af’ Wahaverly Flats, nearing Kenflennery’Helding.

S’was due East.

Far East in fact.

T’ the Illian’East’Castle’region af’ Hellsmoor’ - the final stop being the town af’ Wollfe’.

In dining lounge af’ carriage 7Seven; sepping on glass af’ Kifflington Opal Offla Mia’s finest ‘Calarasberry Estate Orchardonnay;
The Vaxon,
Ms. Perteshia Erstwell.

S’was indeed on return t’ the aforementioned Wollfe’;
n’ ruing her hi’wholey lack af’ judgement on bedding 1One weirdly lettle, n’ mongerish genfar, Stamanuel Sourglassen.

She drained last af’ Orchardonnay n’ ran digitters thru’ her fine locks as she pondered …

S’was it his desturbed mind that had attracted her core n’ pulse so?
The lettle genfar was af’ hi’ devillia n’ not afraid t’ shed bledden, which was always going t’ appeal t’ her.
He was on a mission af’ definitive self explosion - which she was not entirely opposed t’ either.

S’was nothing new.

Perteshia Erstwell had watched many a’ genfar kill self t’ live an existence in Hellsmoor’.
(1Once a genfar keeled, a Vaxon would just walk, n’ never give another scunce t’ it.)

She was pleased t’ be shod af’ him.

Had been that city Vaxon, Eliza Motif, that caused her t’ see her bruption in coming t’ Bataskerville Rowe.

She recalled Eliza’s question af’ her,

‘Why this ainful genfar af’ no size? Af’ regrettable n’ aching features’.

Indeed.

S’was like a sharp beezle sting in Perteshia’s assen.
A Vaxon should never trade low.

Eliza Motif had not.
Einslow Barbierre was a catch well worthy af’ a Vaxon’s nithers n’ nethers.
S’was plain t’ see.

Perteshia had finally saw.

Saw Stamanuel for the lettle crepitoidial mistake that he was.
A genfar, not just lettle in stature,
a lettle genfar with nothing but grieviermaniacliste ideals t’ hang his overly large hat on - nothing else.

She should have seen thru’ that plainly.
She should have known better.

Upon her leaving, he was too slotted in his building t’ see her off.

‘Deluded fecker,’ she muttered t’ herself sucking remnant wine from her lips.

Thru’ the scance af’ her passenger window she peered laung at the days lengthening, eyes glazing at greythorn hued n’ caffinate clouds, lit unst by the setting ambrershine.

Ms. Perteshia Erstwell poured another glass.

The ‘IronHorsener’ powered on east.

Hellsmoor’

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