Tempest in the Garden

Here I am in the garden behind the Netherworld Hotel with Lafayette the Cat, Dahlings. I am avoiding the well because I hear that there are dreadful things which live in it, like the horrible cat boy-girl-thing, and maybe Samara,* though I understand that she and Freddy Krueger are pretty happy together down on Cuzzin Hildy-Bob's farm these days. There truly is someone for everyone, and maybe that is not a good thing. 

The power is probably out again and that is why I'm carrying a candle. I do hope that Mr. Lovecraft--or perhaps Lord Iffy--will come by and protect me from that beastly Axe Man, better known as the Norwegian Nympho.

Kisses,
Tempest

*please note that the Netherworld Samara is not an evil child of nine or ten. She's an evil young woman of indeterminate age but old enough to no longer be jail bait.

Tempest's Secrets Revealed!

Tempest Nightingale LeTrope is a failed Victorian novelist who fell asleep after pricking her finger on an old spinning wheel while exploring the attic in what was once the Overlook Hotel but became the Netherworld hotel upon imploding into the Netherworld. She refuses to be a failure in this new century. Her mode of dress and way of speaking may be a tad outmoded, but she is a thoroughly modern lady. Do not confuse her with any frail waif.
Tempest is somewhat enamored of H.P. Lovecraft and enjoys inviting him up to her garret for tea and picking his brain. Not eating his brain--Tempest is not a zombie.
Writing, writing, and more writing. Costumes, theatre, cinema. Reading. Tempest is particularly fond of pulp fiction. Reading it makes her feel rather naughty.
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