manorsuperman | (no subject)

Good evening, my fellow muses, or whatever time it may be for your typists when you read this. For those of you who are ignorant, allow me to introduce myself. I am the Countess Marguerite Isobel Thoreaux, burned at the stake in 1604 by religious bigots of my own village. I will be commandeering this journal for the moment. I've been ignored for far too long.

Come to think of it...I believe I would like to address a few of you personally. Well...as personally as I can. Some I will talk to in general, applying to any muse by that name, but exceptions must be made.

Clark. How could I not begin with you, however many of you there are. Granted I can make no threats as I have no way of carrying them out, but believe me...if I find a way to return, I will come for you.

Bartholomew...not the one I've had the pleasure of, but just the same. I hear you'll be celebrating your birth in a few days. I really wish I could be there, don't you?

Chloe, Chloe, Chloe. How's my little harlot today?

Dean Winchester...my, haven't we been the busy little man? Tortured any souls lately? Oh, but that's right! You're a broken little woobie now. Poor, pitiful you.

And Samuel, my sweet boy...a lion who lies with a mouse. Do you really enjoy her little squeaks? Why not find a real woman, one who will scream for you? One such as that would be much more fitting for a man with your power...