For your reading pleasure, Tempest presents yet another exquisite example of romantic narrative…

The Foreign, Subterranean Trysting Under the Star
by Rev. Aloysius Jensen

   Waiting alone in the chill gloom of the crypt, with the unknown, barely final, ultramarine rank odour of decay wafting in from outside, the terrified Robert thought once more of Ursula, the mysterious stranger with the large dog. He was now, according to the gypsy woman, struggling for life in the intensive care ward.
   Abruptly, came the sound she had been longing to hear, and she somehow knew that her heart had been right all along. He was here! “Even the crafty River couldn’t keep me from you, my angel — my porcelain angel!” he murmured.
   Only in this moment of extremity could it have happened that the truth — the whole truth — slowly came home to her, and as he slid the little ring onto her finger, she woke up. Incredibly enough, it had all been a dream.

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