Schoolboys have always been taught, since time immemorial, that witches are not to be trusted. Our literature abounds with instances where the most noble of men came to unhonorable ends for their unjustified belief that good is to be expected from the wicked or that honesty can be sought in the mumblings of the vermin who offered their souls to the evil one in return of perishable earthly favors.
Somewhere in Eastern Europe, in a forgotten corner of Transylvania, not too far from a mass grave of a dozen Turk soldiers who were impaled by the order of the terrible Vlad, the locals can tell you a folk tale that utilizes the same theme, although it takes the notions of cruelty, treason and desecration to unexplored levels that never fail to excite disgust.
It goes that a certain antique prince, whose name is irrelevant, having consumed all the pleasures of the flesh, may it be food, drink or fornication, had decided to descend more into the infernal abyss, and learn the dark arts, not for any possible outcome, but for the sole pleasure of violating the divine will of our good lord. He sought joining a fraternity whose uncanny fame offended even the most depraved of men. Some say that he was introduced to it by a prostitute whom he had been frequenting, others deny this detail, asserting that those pests lured him into the forest where their meetings were held by means of voices that drove sanity out of his head.
That's the thing with prostitutes: they're trouble, trouble. Better off without them. Same with witches and fraternities. And Turks. Stay away from all of them, or you'll pay the price with your soul. Anyway, now stand for hymn number 473, All Things Bright and Beautiful.
Opening: Fady Bahig.....Continuation: Anonymous