The sky has opened. Angels descend to earth in fiery fury. Some claim to have seen these creatures, others claim to have been touched by them. Those with psychic abilities find their gifts magnified by the spiritual presences rising from Hell and falling from Heaven. Yes, the end is near.Or is it the beginning?
After a life of violence and crime, gang-leader Torrence provides meaning to her groups’ destructive endeavors through discovery of Conrad, a once-possessed orator of demonic doctrines.
Destroying virtues for the sake of sin, Torrence leads her band of bad-boy brethren to murder, blood sacrifice, and supernatural ritual in an effort to restore her dark savior’s powers so the apocalypse can be an unholy paradise.
Targeted Age Group:: 18+
What Inspired You to Write Your Book?
I can’t pinpoint any one true inspiration. The story began as musings and took on a life of its own as I explored them.
How Did You Come up With Your Characters?
I didn’t put a lot of thought into them before I started writing. I like to write their story as they told it to me, so I discover their personalities and their pasts as I write them.
Handsome face, tanned skin, dark hair and eyes. The corners of his lips upturned even when he grimaced creating the illusion that he perhaps took pleasure in even his personal pain. How ghastly and alluring equally. And how apt that reaction within her was.
This visage, so enchantingly beautiful while it performed haunting acts, was appealing in some way unexplained. Something atypical, something asexual. Something which created its own separate lens through which she might view him. A camera angle no one else could achieve.
He was subject of dreams while being the fuel of nightmares. He was the physical incarnation of the divine but the spiritual manifestation of everything unholy in existence. And wouldn’t the devil’s best disguise be one of utter beauty?
Yes, she imagined him saying softly, come with me. Follow me. And as he offered to drag her into darkness, she begged for the ecstasy of it.
The shape of his plump lips as he recited devilish incantations. The swelling of his pupils which cast his alluring eyes in darkness. It was all things pleasurable bound up in steel chains and barbed wire by an unimaginable pain. The look he possessed, the beautiful flesh-and-blood house which contained only sin and torment, it was a dichotomy she hoped to somehow achieve, though she feared it might be something one could not attain by choice.
After all, did he choose the body to which his spirit had been attached? If he were a demon, perhaps the answer was yes, but if he were a person, then surely any choice in the matter was unlikely.
Either way, he certainly had the form anyone— human, demon, or otherwise— would desire. The flesh was such an easy target to manipulate, capture, own. She knew she’d follow him into the depths of hell itself if he so called, and she knew it had much to do with the appearance of that outer shell, that bronze skin, the shape of his hands which were not only elegant but also talented.
How carefully they crafted words with pens and paper. How masterfully they carved his name into flesh.
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