‘Foul vampire! accursed lamia! she-serpent of hell!’ thundered the abbot suddenly, as he crossed the threshold of the room, raising the aspergillus aloft. At the same moment, Nycea glided from the couch, with an unbelievable swiftness of motion, and vanished through an outer door that gave upon the forest of laurels.’ –Clark Ashton Smith (The End of the Story)
Black Lord of bale and fear, master of all confusion!
By thee, thy prophet saith,
New power is given to wizards after death,
And witches in corruption draw forbidden breath
And weave such wild enchantment and illusion
As none but lamiae may use;
And through thy grace the charneled corpses lose
Their horror, and nefandous loves are lighted
In noisome vaults long nighted;
And vampires make their sacrifice to thee —
Disgorging blood as if great urns had poured
Their bright vermilion hoard
About the washed and weltering sarcophagi.
— Ludar’s Litany to Thasaidon.
“Farewell for awhile, Christophe. But have no fear. You shall find me again if you are brave and patient.”–Clark Ashton Smith (The End of the Story)
Jeffrey LeBlanc 