I have been married once and only once to a woman named Fiona.
The relationship lasted for four years. I had two affairs during that time when she entered devaluation. Valerie was my first affair partner lasting eight months followed by Emily. The affair with Emily lasted for seven months. Both were intimate partner secondary sources. Valerie an empath and Emily a narcissist. Both attended to the prime aims.
My marriage ended and divorce followed and whilst the divorce had been granted the financial arrangements rumbled on with the ball washing bastards looking to extort ridiculous sumsfor “perusal” and “review” (I was wise to their game believe me), relationship wise Fiona had been left in the dust and my focus was on my new intimate partner primary source, Caroline. You may remember Caroline from other works.
It was the golden period and Caroline, loyal and dedicated to me approached me one evening. She appeared unsettled.
“What´s the matter?” I asked.
She had tears in her eyes and thrust a piece of paper towards me. She did not do so in an accusing manner but rather as if she wanted to throw the paper away. I took the single sheet of paper from her. It was thick and I could see elegant hand writing which I immediately recognised as that of my ex-wife.
“How could someone be so wicked?” whispered Caroline as if she had been punched in the stomach.
I read the content of the letter which was addressed to Caroline. I felt the fury rise within me, but it made no appearance for I kept it within, preserving it, holding it, crafting it. There was no need for it to show in this place, no reason at all.
“She really is as awful as you warned me,” continued Caroline. I nodded.
“I will deal with this,” I replied in a matter of fact manner. I stood up, kissed her and told her not to worry, that this was just another instance of the madness of my jealous and deranged ex-wife. Caroline nodded in understanding before I kissed her and with the letter folded into my pocket, I left my property.
A time later I was stood outside the elegant town house where Fiona resided. I slammed the door knocker three times, ignoring the door bell and waited. It was evening, it was dark and drizzle fell from the sky. The door opened, the warm yellow light beyond bleeding into the night street. It was Phillip who answered the door, Fiona´s new beau.
“Ah HG,” he announced nervously.
“Hello Pip,” I responded with a wan smile. He hated me calling him that, so I continued to do so.
“It´s Phillip,” he responded with a futile attempt to cause me to alter my addressing of him.
“Would you go and get Fiona, please Pip, I do not need to come in, this will not take long?”
He hesitated and then turned.
“Darling, you have a……” another pause “visitor.”
Little shit not even announcing me by name. Still at least Pip was now showing some pluck, a contrast with his insipid behaviour when we had met previously. I offered no reaction despite my irritation.
Fiona appeared at the top of the stairs and then stopped when she saw it was me.
“Can´t it go through the lawyers?” she asked.
“You would prefer that it would not,” I explained.
“Is that HG´s preference or truly mine?” she asked. At least she remembered some things.
I gave a short laugh.
“You can go Pip,” I declared. Fiona descended the stairs into the well-appointed hallway and placed a hand on Pip´s chest as she passed.
“Want me to stay?” he asked. Oh so brave, so gallant. She shook her head.
“This won´t take long,” she assured. He nodded and with a glance back at me and a nod of departure, he retreated back up the stairs.
“He´s not grown since I last saw him,” I noted indicating towards the departing back of Pip. I saw a trace of a smile flicker on the edges of her mouth but she dispelled it, not wanting to give me anything, but it was too late.
“What is it?” she asked.
I removed her letter to Caroline from my pocket and began to read.
“Dear Caroline,
I write this letter (I stopped and pointed out that this was self-evident and superfluous) purely from a position of kind intent. You are involved with someone who you must go from as soon as you have read this letter.
HG Tudor, is a name that evokes a sense of malevolence and darkness. A figure lurking in the shadows, manipulating, exploiting, and wreaking havoc upon the lives of others. To understand the true sinister nature of HG is to peel back the layers of deception, to shine a light on the twisted mind that revels in causing pain and suffering.
It is within the very essence of HG ‘s being that the seeds of malevolence were sown. Devoid of empathy, emotionally empty, he finds pleasure and fulfillment in the misery of others. A puppet master pulling invisible strings, manipulating his victims to dance to his twisted tune. For him, empathy is a foreign concept, an alien notion that he observes in others but feels no connection to within himself.
Like a predator stalking its prey, HG wears a mask of charm and charisma to lure his victims towards him. With calculated precision, he identifies their weaknesses and insecurities, exploiting them to gain power and control. His manipulative tactics are honed to perfection, leaving his victims trapped in a web of his making, unable to escape the clutches of his sinister game.
But it is not only the act of manipulation that defines the sinister nature of HG. It is the absolute delight he takes in causing pain and suffering, the sadistic pleasure that courses through him as he witnesses the devastation he has wrought. He feeds off the emotional turmoil of others, extracting satisfaction and power from their vulnerability and despair.
There is a distinct lack of morality in the actions of HG . He has no regard for the well-being of others, viewing them as mere pawns to be used and discarded at his whim. Their pain, their tears, their shattered lives mean nothing to him. He revels in the destruction he leaves in his wake, finding a perverse sense of satisfaction in the misery he inflicts.
But what truly sets HG Tudor apart is his ability to demonstrate he cannot be touched. He plays the part with such conviction, such mastery, that even his victims question their own reality. He gaslights, manipulates, and twists the truth, leaving his victims doubting their own perceptions, their own sanity. It is a sickening display of psychological warfare, designed to keep them under his control, forever trapped in his sinister grasp.
There is no remorse within HG , no regret for the pain he has caused. He is a creature driven by his own insatiable hunger for power and control, a relentless quest that knows no bounds. He is the embodiment of darkness, a force that thrives on the suffering of others.
But perhaps the most unsettling aspect of HGs sinister nature is the fact that he is not some fictional character, a figment of someone’s imagination. He is a real person, walking among us, hidden behind a cleverly crafted facade. His actions, his manipulation, and his sadistic pleasure are the truest reflections of the darkest depths of human nature.
HG Tudor is a chilling manifestation of a twisted mind devoid of empathy and consumed by a thirst for power and control. His ability to manipulate, exploit, and cause pain showcases a malevolence that is deeply unsettling. To encounter the likes of HG Tudor is to face a sinister force that preys upon the vulnerabilities of others for its own pleasure and gratification.
You may not have yet experienced this and for that I am grateful. If he has begun that deadly dance with you, you have my compassion, but wherever you find yourself in relation to him, leave him this instant. Leave him, flee and never look back. He cannot be controlled, he cannot be conquered, he cannot be changed. Whatever he tells you, do not believe it but know this, you are in such danger and the only way to avoid it is to flee. I know this and wish somebody had written such words to me so that I would have paid heed and avoided the utter torture and misery that vicious man visited on me time and time again.
You need not suffer. I implore you, leave and do not look back.
Yours in concern
Fiona”
I looked at her. I could see the disappointment on her face that I held her letter, that it had not been acted on. That pleased me.
“I just dropped by to thank you for this glowing reference and to remind you that I will be living up to everything you wrote about me, just for you,” I declared in a low voice before I smiled, folded the letter up, tucked it back into my pocket and then walked away into the damp night.