Uniformed Officer Takes the Pole Dancer for a Wild Ride

He felt holy doing this, like one of the saints revered in Sunday School. Queen Mab. XXX No mice, no varmints; no baby kittens—not even the fresh carcass of the child-sized spider that he had slain. He must not look down. Orpheus looked up, into, through Tristan, as no one else. Though infinite paths, Isolda escorts him with her minions to her private cave, the Lover’s Cave. Orpheus was—remains—weary of strangers. Tristan regaled Orpheus with a thousand conquests, hoping to impress his host. Cruel, uproarious, horrid laughter–the laughter of those who suffer no muse, laughter that feasts upon the innocenct. Tristan paces forward. The path is steep and narrow, treacherous and wet. I am not here to hunt. Orpheus’ gaze was now lost to the fire.