A Fable

Far, far within the usual boundaries of the forest, in a place that has been forgotten certainly twice and perhaps thrice over, lived a caustic and demented rogue named Drano. He dwelt in squalor here, happily ignored by his time, in a house built from stomach bile, shame, and swamp mud, simply because he could no longer live anywhere else. Evil and mischief roiled beneath his clammy grey skin like nimble parasites. Flies, initially enticed by his foul miasma, dropped dead on contact.

Into thi...