Black Death and Scone Witches
July 29, 2006
It is with a heavy heart I must report that when I last left my beloved Esmeralda Sconeflinger she was stricken low and convalescing. Sadly her love of 14th century culture, combined with an uncommon fondness for sketchy rodents, led to her acquiring the Black Death. So low were her spirits upon discovering the nature of her affliction that even the finest tales of Grunions and flying couches were unable to dispel the miasma of sorrow and pestilence that hovered around her.
You likely think it was callous of me to leave her in her hour of need; perhaps the last hours of her life. Truth be told it pained me greatly to abandon her to the tender ministration of my globular cat, yet I am working man and work I must. I was considerate enough to arrange a surgeon stopping by every few hours to bleed her and drain the dark humors and bile down to passable levels. In addition, should such measures prove unsuccessful, a death cart will be pulled by my house at six and ten pm to collect any plague corpses that may have accumulated.