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The Ink Well
Torundel the Shitposter! part VIII

Torundel the Shitposter! part VIII

katharsisdrill(74)

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The Ink Well

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288

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2 min

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VIII

Torundel wept. He lay in bed in the soft night gown his wife had given him for blood day, and the loss of his love and the humiliation tore at his sanity in each its own direction.

His wife hadn't known what that old figurine meant. She was a peddler's daughter and knew nothing of the world, nothing of the ways of honorable houses. She would learn now – she had to learn. Count B, the fart smelling titbird had obviously decided to lawfully take away what he had already stolen.

When Torundel finally fell asleep, he dreamt of Sang Hortuscany, the warrior poet who had fallen in love with an arrogant, recalcitrant, brown-skinned prostitute named Dykeia, and who had written her 101 poems of ambiguous love declarations – of which no. 85 was Torundel's favourite.

I love her, and hate her. How is that possible? you ask me.
I know not, but it is happening, and it is like having a big, lumpy tree trunk up my arse!

In the dream, while standing bloodied and half-naked in front of the red-painted brothel, Sang Hortuscany said to Torundel:

‘Fuck'em. Fuck'em all.’

And when he woke up in the middle of the night, the stormy winds reduced to a high flutelike singing…

Torundel wept

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