Wednesday, June 17, 2015

Taylor Swift, the Reaper of Souls

Taylor Swift woke up in her big comfortable bed with the warm morning light on her cheeks and the sound of bird chirps ringing softly behind her window. The only thing she hated more than the sun was the sound of bird chirps.
            She got up in a rage, closed the blinds and began gently humming to drown the birds out. Taylor covered herself in a fine silk robe and made her way through the long halls of her old, rather poorly lit mansion.
            Once in the kitchen she prepared her favorite breakfast of cow’s blood and milk. Normally one of her servants would have done this for her, but today they were gone. Today was special.
            Recently Taylor had acquired the embodiment of her desires. The old Delapore Estate had a very long and dark history. Shunned by the locals of the countryside, the mansion had come to be commonly known as the, “Black House”. In total at least 100 people have died there from reasons ranging from suicide to being devoured by a swarm of rats. The Delapore family line was extinguished in their own estate after a culmination of family plots and pure madness turned into a bloody fight to the death between brothers, sisters, fathers, mothers, sons, aunts, uncles, and servants. Before that, in the darker corners of history it was supposedly an ancient and forbidden ritual site for pagans. The pagans were ultimately put to death by the Romans; and their idols and stone altars were turned mostly into rubble. But something primordial and truly evil seemed to linger there to this very day.
            Taylor Swift, after years of research ultimately resolved to buy the property and live there for a time, hoping to better understand the dark energy of that place and to harness it for herself.
            She had dabbled in dark magic. In many ways it was the key to her success. She didn’t sing songs, she casted spells. But she had only scratched the surface of the dark arts, and those little tastes had tantalized her greatly. What she hoped to perform here was quite ambitious and she feared it could even be her own undoing. But she couldn’t turn back now. The voices in the night called to her. They sang to her the words she would later sing herself.
           There was no way she couldn’t go through with it. Power was all she truly desired in this world.
            She knew this house held something great and terrible and today was the day that she would look in its eyes and it would look back into hers.
            She wiped the bloody milk from her lips, but they stayed red as ripe cherries. She hadn’t worn makeup in weeks or bothered bathing regularly since the house was too old and dis-repaired for running water, but she was as lovely as ever. The house, she thought, was giving her an odd power. She was positively radiant in fact. The dusty walls of her gothic mansion glowed when she walked by as if lit by faint candlelight.
            She loved this house since the first time she saw it. “The Black House” she loved the ring to it.
            Her lips were plump and the perfect sharp shade of red. She was brimming with energy. She walked through the halls and brushed her fingers through the cobwebs.
The stories of this house alone would be enough to drive someone mad.

            She went back into her room and began to dress for the fine occasion. Underneath she wore purple lingerie and black nylon stockings. She also saved her finest dress, one that she never got to wear in public. She acquired the dress from a mysterious merchant in the Far East city known as Johor Baru. It was sown with the finest gossamer silk from the webs of various spiders considered only more dangerous than they are rare. It was then dyed red with the blood of lambs sacrificed during a red moon ritual and intricate black skulls were then added with ancient ink recovered from the tomb of Solomon. But the shoes were her favorite piece of them all. They were red heels that curved into sharp hook-like blades.  She was dressed to kill. Her eyes were as blue as the crystal sky. Her hair was as golden as the Holy Grail. She made her way to the basement.
            There were endless stairs in the Black House. Some led to dead ends and traps, but they never fooled her. She could feel the power glowing deep in the foundation and she knew the perfect path to the very bottom, the red room.
            First there was a basement. Beneath that, there was a sub-basement. In a dark and somewhat obstructed corner there was a false wall that led to the upper catacombs. All in all there were three layers of catacombs. The upper catacombs contained bones of the somewhat recently deceased. It was very orderly, each set of bones was gently placed in a coffin and each grave was distinctly labeled. The middle catacombs got a little messier. The bones were gathered into piles and they were often broken and jumbled. There were names carved on the walls, but it was impossible to tell which bones belonged to them. A few of them even seemed to be animal bones. The lower catacombs became very narrow. It contained the oldest bones and by far the most. The walls, ceiling, and floor were all made of nothing but bones. They were organized into various patterns and some even had ancient runes painted or carved into them. Bellow that was yet another floor that opened up into a large, naturally formed cave. At one point in time this room served very well as an amphitheater of sorts, but it was in no condition for that today. Rubble from the ancient site was scattered all about and blocked everything but a narrow path that emitted a faint glow. Then finally, after one more set of stairs, Taylor swift made her way to the 7th and final floor, the red room. It was hard to tell if the stonewalls were already crimson or if the color came from the slow lava flows deeper down the chamber. Similar to the previous floor, the red room was a rather large grotto that probably once fit many people. The lava came from two small holes in the wall and then flowed into a circle around the grand altar table.
            Taylor Swift smiled with a row of sharp teeth when she saw the victim of her great sacrifice waiting ever so patiently. He was just how she left him, strapped upside-down to an iron cross. It was none other than George Clooney.
            “You’re a monster Taylor Swift!” George Clooney screamed.
            “Nice to see you, where’ve you been? I could show you incredible things… Magic, madness, heaven, sin.” Taylor replied.
            “You’ll never get away with this!”
            “Oh Georgy but I will,” she laughed, “no one knows where you are, and even if they did, it’s already too late for you. Can’t you hear your bell tolling?”
            “Did something terrible happen to you? You always seemed like such a sweet girl, Taylor.”
            “You know that’s a good question, Georgy. The cold hard truth is that I have always been this way. The very moment I was born something truly dark was born with me. But its funny, you know, it may have stayed dormant if it wasn’t for him.
            “Who Kanye? Taylor come on that’s just the way he is, don’t take it so personal.”
            “I’m not just talking about the night he humiliated me in front of everyone. That bastard has been a thorn in my side for years.”
            “Then why don’t you kill him instead of me?”
            “Oh Georgy, it’s not that simple. Kanye knows I’m out to get him. You, on the other hand were unsuspecting and innocent as a ripe little spring flower. Plus you’re one of the only people with the blood I ne...”
             She was interrupted by the loud bang as the chamber doors burst open and Miley Cyrus stumbled in.
            “Damnit Miley, you’re late.” Taylor yelled.
            Miley stumbled over with the stupor of a drunk, she was mumbling incoherently.            
            “Miley what did I say about acting like such a crazy bitch in public?! You want them to catch on to what we are doing?”
            Miley screamed back with a broken and raw voice, “THE VOICES, OH THE VOICES, THEY WONT LET ME BE!”
            “Shut up and get over here. I didn’t teach you the black art of pop songs for you to snap on me now.”
            Miley responded with a sharp and haunting laughter that only the truly insane posses, as if crying in pain and screaming out in ecstasy at the same time.
            She stumbled towards the altar where her dark lord, Taylor Swift and the helpless George Clooney awaited.
            “Did you at least bring what I told you?” Taylor asked.
            “Yes, my mistress. Black tar from the pits of the undying, the ceremonial blade of Montezuma, and the skull of non other than Joan of Arc.”
            “Bring them closer, let me see.”
            Taylor inspected the three mythical items. George studied the jagged and cruel blade with strained and fearful eyes.
            “Please Taylor,” he begged, “please I’ll do anything. I’ll even help you get a better sacrifice. Brad would work, right? I could even get you Kanye.”
            “Georgy baby, you should know begging will get you nowhere. Don’t make me cut out that tongue of yours. It would be a waste of some of that precious blood.”
            She looked back at Miley.
            “You’ve done well.”
            She placed the skull on the altar, opened the ceramic jar of black tar and began slowly pouring it on the altar. She lifted the twisted, cruel blade and took a pause.
            “Tell me Miley, where exactly did you find this blade? Was it where the legends foretold, surrounded by thorns and beasts in the deepest, darkest part of the jungle?”
            “Aye mistress, 30 days and 31 nights I searched. I found the fabled blade in a lost pyramid where the trees are so tall and thick that the light of the sun and moon has never graced it. I received this from the temple guardian.” She revealed her shoulder which had the deep and raw gash marks of a large, wicked claw.
            “Why are you lying to me Miley?”
            “I owe my mistress all I have. I would never betray you.”
            “Your eyes betray you Miley. The tongue can twist the truth but the eyes, never. Perhaps you are already lost to me. Show me the real blade, Miley.”
            Miley screamed like a banshee in labor and pulled a second blade, one that looked like a massive claw from an even more massive talon. The hilt was crested in gold and rubies. She lunged at Taylor. Taylor laughed and side-stepped the attack. George Clooney looked on helplessly.
            The fight went back and forth through the lava filled room. Miley fought like a rabid beast, lashing out with fierce and unpredictable attacks. Taylor, on the other hand, moved around like a silken shadow, weaving and dodging with ease.
            Miley landed one wayward slash that nicked Taylor’s belly and cut her fine dress. This threw her into a deep rage and in one lighting fast motion Taylor faked a back-hand slice just to perform a flawless round house kick, driving her blade-like-high-heel deep into the side of Miley’s ribs. Miley gasped and fell to the ground in a heap. Taylor picked the dagger up and examined it with fire burning in her beautiful eyes.
              “Yes, this is the blade I need, the talon of Quetzalcoatl. Why did we have to do this the hard way Miley?”
            She threw the fake blade to where Miley laid bleeding and struggling for breath. Taylor knew she had punctured a lung.
            “You ruined my dress. For that, you shall die slow.”
            She turned to George Clooney. He was sweating and on the verge of tears. She knelt down and ruffled his hair.
            “Don’t worry Georgy you’ll die quickly. Just wait a little bit longer.”
            She took the talon-blade and lifted it in the air. She smiled with sharp teeth and began to whisper.
            George wondered what language it was as she began to repeat the chant louder and faster. Soon he realized that the lava was flowing out at a faster and faster rate and yet it also seemed like the room was growing dimmer, as if the light itself was being sapped and drained and turned into darkness.
            In a flash Taylor stopped chanting and held her hands in front of her eyes to shield them from the blinding light. She hissed like a snake as Kanye West, the holy paladin, emerged from the light, adorned in beautiful silver amour and holding a great sword seemingly made from one massive diamond.
            “Yo, imma let you finish… actually no I’m not, cuz that’s wack ass dark magic you doin Taylor Swift, damn! Let Clooney go!”
            “KANYE! I should have known you’d be here to spoil this for me! But you’re too late this time.”
            She raised the knife and brought it down again onto the tar-covered skull. It burst like a firework, then in the blink of an eye, before the sparks even cleared, she plunged the twisted blade deep into George Clooney’s heart. With George’s last gasp the lava began to pour out even fast than before. Kanye held out his glowing sword but the darkness engulfed everything. The lava turned darker and darker until it wasn’t even faintly red anymore. The shadows swarmed around Taylor like a plague of black locusts, spiders, snakes, and rats and in all the chaos the only sound to be heard was Taylor’s lovely singing voice. Haunting and beautiful like a dark angel, she sang crystal clear notes. Kanye slashed at the shadows with the radiant blade, trying desperately to walk towards her and the altar, but she was right, it was already too late.
            The shadows began to dissipate and the room glowed again with red lava. Taylor stood over her altar. Her lovely dress had grown bits of horns and blades and black onyx plates. With a valiant battle cry, Kanye charged at her, his holy blade clutched firmly in both hands. The holy light burned bright again and it seemed to propel him as it was scattered and refracted by his beautiful silver armor. Taylor met his first blow with the cursed dagger and for a moment they remained there like that, eye to eye, as if frozen in time.
            Taylor smiled and let out a wicked laugh. With a fine finesse she twirled her blade, hitting Kanye’s blade with just a little tap. The crystal blade began to vibrate. He stepped back in horror, trying to keep control of it as it vibrated more and more violently.
            “Don’t you see Kanye? I’ve already won.” She let out another wicked laugh as his holy sword began to give way and crack.
            “Noooooooo,” Kanye screamed as his blade shattered into a hundred little shards of light that were soon engulfed in the swirling darkness.
            Quick as lightening Taylor threw her dagger and in its brief flight it seemed to take the black shadowy figure of a hawk. The blade dug deep into Kanye’s silver amour, through flesh and bone and heart and back out the other side. His lifeless body fell to the ground with the heavy metallic thud of metal hitting rock.
            Taylor smiled again. She took a handful of the remaining tar from the pits of the undying and walked to where Miley was still writhing in a mixture of pain and ecstasy. Taylor smeared the tar over the wound in Miley’s side and soon it began to smoke and bubble. Taylor looked down at her.
            “Get up. I knew you would try to betray me, but I think you’ve learned your lesson. Get that fabulous French hairdresser on the phone. The Grammys are in a few days and I want to look good. They will weep blood from their eyes and scream out in terrible agony as they look upon the beauty of Taylor Swift, the reaper of souls.”

Disclaimer: All names used in this story are purely coincidental and in no way represent any real people or events.