THE MADNESS OF KING CROWLEY
WOW: jerk. With sincere apologies to William Shakespeare ... Crowley's not having a good time.
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'Out damn Spot'.
The despairing plea had become his mantra.
'Out damn Spot'.
There was whispering in corners and heads being jerked his way; he knew his minions had decided he was losing his marbles and that the usurpers were lining up. Sodding demons; untrustworthy, backstabbing little shits, the lot of them.
'Out damn Spot!'
He stared forlornly at the chewed curtains, stained carpets and upturned furniture left behind by the retreating figure he'd just kicked out of his office; it was a bloody warzone.
He didn't like Spot, his new hellhound. Dear old Juliet had never been this much trouble.
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