Title: The Sanguinarian Id
Author: L.M. Labat
Artist: L.M. Labat
Genre: Horror, Historical Fiction, Paranormal, Occult, Gothic Horror
Publisher: Night to Dawn Magazine & Books
She’s been beaten,
stabbed, poisoned, and shot, but Hael refuses to die. In her pursuit for
vengeance and her origin, the Dhampir Hael hunts down the madman responsible
for her fateful transformation. As this half-vampire juggernauts her way
through a world at war, Hael battles hordes of Nazi soldiers as she struggles
to maintain her sanity. However, while Hael gathers knowledge on how to trap
and kill her target, her adversary’s network is expanding at an exponential
rate, as his sick obsession with Hael grows deeper. Will she have her revenge?
Will she find her origin? Or, will she crumble beneath her own insidious
bloodlust?
Author Bio
Born in 1993, L. M. Labat stems from New
Orleans, Louisiana. From the struggles of a broken family and surviving
life-threatening events, Labat found refuge within the arts while delving into
the fields of medicine, psychology, and the occult. While combining
illustration and literature, L. M. Labat was able to cope with endless
nightmares as well as hone in on artistic techniques. From confronting the past
to facing new shadows, this author gladly invites audiences into the horror of
The Sanguinarian Id.
Links
The Sanguinarian Id
Website
Website Creator: L. M.
Labat
Night to Dawn Magazine
& Books Website:
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Amazon.com:
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Book Excerpt
Within Europe’s late
nineteenth century, marvelous medical miracles came into existence that
augmented the intellectual to new horizons. Doctors of all fields were admired
for their dedication to health and humanity. However, as their accolades
increased, these professionals grew fat with entitlement while their patients
starved for love. With speedy developments, the human brain, in its entire
splendor, spiraled dangerously into the new era of indulgences that forked the
path between masterpiece and monstrosity. **** A group of young women sat on
the cold floor. In dirty hospital gowns, they picked and ingested lead paint
chips from the wall. Persistently, they crammed more debris into their hungry
mouths. Drool covered their cracked fingernails. With muted expressions, the
nurses smoked like locomotives at their corridor stations. They watched the
self-poisoning, but did nothing to help. The nurses reacted solely when the
clock struck seven. The chimes notified them to administer the medication. In
the joining corridor, more patients wandered aimlessly. Whimpering like beaten
dogs, most patients wore restraints over their mouths and arms. Others fiddled
with their gowns as they stumbled from side to side. No matter what they were
doing, the inhabitants complemented each other with the same dead-eyed stare
against the barred windows. The doctors were devils. They prodded, scraped, and
teased the flesh with their instruments. Like foxes, the doctors lured people
into their examination rooms with wide-toothed grins and false promises. None
of them were in harmony with their patients. These mechanized madmen were
fluent with their hands and calculations. Their utensils were never bare. These
men constantly wrapped their fingers around their equipment’s silvery curves.
They comforted the metal exteriors like newborn children. The wives of these
doctors had sullen lives, wishing their husbands would caress their thighs the
way they did their clipboards. The patients knew no humanity. The kind gazes
they saw reflected off foggy spectacles before the serum blacked out their
minds. That was if they were lucky enough to have the straps off their
foreheads. This was Halcyon Asylum.
Thank you for giving me the opportunity to share my work. I appreciate this. I hope you all enjoy the read.
ReplyDeleteBest Regards,
L. M. Labat