Tyra and the Tome

Tyra Elizabeth, the woman who invoked every ounce of admiration that was given to her, it was not her fault by any stretch of the imagination that her beauty alone inspired all the admiration she could afford. She found it more of a burden. A haunting disposition invoked upon her. At the time of her birth. However, the choosing of her lifestyle, whether it was fate or destiny or something different altogether, it invoked inside of her more of an outrage. Despite the most wondrous and glamorous beauty of all human creation. She loathed all of. Despite the attention then gentlemanly gifts. She was given more so on nonrandom occasions, or that when at any time she would step out upon the tears and screams of adoring people. She despised everything. She wanted to be left alone. She was not the type of woman or girl when I first encountered her. Who like being the center of attention? Everywhere she went, it was the same drowning sounds of screams and tears, the same adoring yes-man nature of her beast, it was not anything she enjoyed. When she rebelled. They only scream louder with enjoyment. Nothing she could do would deter the fickle demands of the public eye.

My name is Dr. Brown. I am a medical physician here in Ravenswood, I focus more on the psychiatric; meeting the mind and how it affects people. I met Tyra when she was only seven years of age, and I watched her blossom into the woman of now twenty. We used to have regular chats, every day, and then as the years went by, it went down to once a week and then finally, once a year. What I can tell you of her family’s upbringing would not change a single thing, it would not let you see the woman who I got to know. It would not harm you or deter you in any way. If I were to tell you of her tragic back story. It would do nothing for you. You would gain nothing from knowing the unknown or wanting to know the amount. Now I do say this with all the looseness and protection. I can give no regard or remorse to any who invoked this woman in any way. For when you do, or for those who would rather be saying, if one does, the only thing I can tell you at that point would be that you would understand the itself.

Ravenswood has been the home of everything possible under the sun. The events that would transpire here, the oddities, the invalid, the deities, the demonic, the Witcher’s, the hauntings, and the list just keeps growing for all of the events that transpire here. But I tell you, weary readers, and travelers, that every tail that I tell you is true. And if you invoke this woman, you will learn to fear, as I have.

Upon Tyra’s death at age 21 I was given a small book, it was bound in leather, though I did not know the kind, nor did they look familiar to me in any way, the spine itself was of a spiraling nature but not of the metal corrosive that one would take pleasure in making the spring from, but the spiral was that of bone. I thought it was animal of some kind but could not determine which, the ink on the front of the book was written in the Vermillion tone, dark Vermillion, nearly Crimson, it invoked just by holding or upon viewing it a more haunting expression or that of something of the supernatural, the small eye that was drawn on the front cover in the very center only gave way to even more of the erotic and exact thoughts to which overwhelmed me and allowing me further into the depths of this, this thinking that the supernatural was a natural thing.

Inside of the book. Upon opening the book, upon my receiving of it, the pages to be of the same whether quality to that which the book was founded, but it also had the coarseness of that of some kind of dried flesh instead of the parchment to which we became accustomed to, periodically as I thumbed through the pages of this volume, I found the normal style of paper that we have been making out of the white linen and rags with periodical leads that were bound to hold them into place. Regardless of the formality of some of these course and non-course like pages, I have found them all blank. Void of any word or expression. There were no markings or tallies on the parchment. It was as if this tome was vacant and void of any human expression. Nothing of Tyra Elizabeth inside of it. My curiosity. Then got the better nature of me. My curiosity… I am a man of science, and I should have known better. I should have known not to mess with things that I should never had invoked or encountered, nor should I have messed any further with the tome that was given to me. If anyone should find this haunting volume I begged the now not to engage in or invoke what is inside. For it will consume and it will devour.

It was in the late September when I decided to examine this blank volume. I had put it off for a few months dealing with the passing of Tyra Elizabeth. So my thinking was that maybe I had missed something, and there was a final message from her telling me why she had taken her life and why she did what she did and the way she did. It was a hopeful thought. I thumbed through the pages. Once again, blank volume. I once found that there was no writing. But as I may have indicated, the accident that could have happened, had I known something so trivial would have led to the downfall of Tyra and those whom she heard or even of myself. As I was trying to close the book, my thumbs scratched itself upon a page. I did not feel it, nor did I notice it at first. It was not like the paper cut that one feels when upon accidentally pricking themselves upon the course and hardened edge. But when my blood touch the book and its binding it was as if a light turned on inside of my head.

It was a voiceless cry that muttered it has wings or sound or whatever it was that seemed to with about my mind like a whirlwind. It was at the gentle flapping nature of the beast inside my head was wrapping itself, like a cocoon inside of me. The whispers, the unspoken truth of myself, and of those who helped. It was as if my mind was playing tricks against me. And then I spoke to the voice out loud. I engaged. It spoke back.

I dare not write or say the slander that it did speak unto me. For if I did I would never forgive myself. It told me of things that were to come, that did come to pass. Just as the voice said it would. They told me of the lightning horrors that were to strike humanity as if it were a vast never-ending sea of Nightmare and Vance mission. And each time it spoke in its rind and riddles I… I begged Harley so that I could understand. Periodically I found myself invoking the creature’s name. Engaging in it, with its rhyming riddles and no longer seeking a parlay for understanding but knew the answers as they were spoken. Thus, I who was once a medical practitioner of the psychiatric and psychotic whose normal demands were that of hysteria and telling those of the womankind to be more subservient to their husbands. Or to those of their husbands who could not quake or quell the fires within their wives to set them into asylum where they could find a resting place of the mind’s eye and we could ignite together…

It would seem that I had given too much. That I knew too much. For I too was now bound and those women that came to me for help or to those gentlemanly husbands who offered up their wives. They had all found the same fate as the Tyra Elizabeth as I have whom was a doctor to Tyra Elizabeth.

It goes without saying that now the situation is severe. It bars me no hope for faith. I write this paper as my confession and so property that the book be passed on to the next generation. That the tome is opened and read aloud. That the bindings of the tapestry on the cover are moreover bathed in the blood of those freely and willingly, to give the call that it has life and passion, for it is the future and the lust of us all!

I beg thee all to allow its madness to infect the reaches of the core of our beings and enlighten us all with its melodic song and dance so that we all understand why Beauty is the Beast and why Beauty is only versatile as a skin-deep prop. It speaks to me now, tells me to write and sing while I dance with Tyra once more for it was I and only I whom understood her, that I am the only one for her.

She’s here!