A Poem

Written by an escaped slave in London:

*Gifts from the airport*

One short week ago, I was dragged back through the vortex, back to Satan Cruz. It’s still there, still churning out magic and mischief and music. Though I escaped its clutches, still the Grimp and the powers that be pursued me. And they let me know they were watching, by leaving me a gift in the airport.

But not an airport close to Satan Cruz. That would be too easy.

No. It was waiting for me in the Philadelphia airport. In the children’s play area.

Orcish powers have a sense of humor. (Or, as they say on this end of the vortex: humour.)

So into the children’s play area I gambolled, naively thinking I had gotten just a whisper beyond the power of Orc Tower. And there I saw a book. I can never resist a book, so I turned it over. “Kissing the Witch”, the cover told me.

Kissing the Witch, kissing the Vortex – I had been followed, I knew. Even I can read the signs. There is no place where the Orcs cannot reach you. And I like it that way.

Dr Hellion


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