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A novel of obsession and clandestine descent into ancient and forgotten depravity. |
-Preface- This is an ongoing work in progress - it is likely to contain typos and grammatical errors while I add and edit. The subject matter of this story contains some imagery that might be disturbing - please consider this warning before reading. I'd like to mention that this writing takes place in the early 19th century. As such, the language used to write is an attempt to emulate the linguistic style of the period. It may be somewhat difficult to understand some of the verbiage I've chosen. If this is a problem for the reader, I'd very much welcome that comment, I want this to capture the period correctly, but I don't want to alienate readers due to the style I've chosen. I'm writing this with the pretense that Charles Dickens, Edgar Allen Poe, and Clive Barker sat down together and wrote a book. I don't know if such an amalgamation is possible, but it is what I am attempting to do. If none of this has turned you away, I thank you for making it this far, and hope you enjoy the story. -Special Thanks- I'd like to thank those who've commented on the style and prose, offering advice and suggestions on structuring and pace. I greatly appreciate your help, and I hope that I can successfully create a compelling story in your honor. ******************** In early nineteenth century, London, the son of a wealthy businessman grows weary and sick of the constant conquests of commercialism. Thinking of those sorry souls of impoverished streets and back-alley droves, he wishes to understand the natures of the great eternity beyond this seemingly miserable existence. His desire leads to obsession and a rapid, dark descent into depraved insanity, lust, deceit, and envy. |
Entry # | 1 | Prologue: 'On the Nature of the Lemegeton' | 4.75k |
Entry # | 2 | Chapter 1: Those Raddled Masses | 20.88k |
Entry # | 3 | Chapter 2: St. Giles Rookery | 6.83k |