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Raspberry LaCroix


Character Biography

Prioress turned Poet, Raspberry LaCroix is an ex-communicate of The Church -- though, she won’t say which one. It’s best for you to assume all of them. She’s still getting used to a life away from monastic vows, so she’s taken vows to metaphysics for the “time being”. When she isn’t seen pouring over every banned book she was never allowed to read, she’s usually muttering to herself something about intersectional polytheism, or transdimensional mythology, or pomegranates. You’d think expulsion from religion would leave a sour taste in her mouth, but Raspberry’s poetry can ripen even the most pious rites into something devoutly sweet. Esoterica never aside, Raspberry has a pension for gin martinis. Catch her after 3, and she’ll feed you thought experiments until you’re converted to her Cult of Insomnia, wherein she reigns as High Priestess.



Would’ve been candle

light to lead me, a ramble,

inspect what I can’t handle.

Found short to breathe—

found fast to dismantle,

flame left flick’ring on panel.

Wick wound tight to me,

flame dances to read.

I felt fire fall

up and down my chest,

internal stall,

reconcile to rest.

/cruel light befalls, quick evil morning

Well, the light follows strange ceaseless days

—If I wished, I could go, but I think, for a bit, I’ll stay.

See, this old scandal

hits me like feather to anvil.

Kissing my sandals;

tell, how’s your wife?

Our legs, for example,

too quickly disentangle

from horizontal angles,

your scent left enwreathed.

I felt my nose bleed;

wipe away on stiff sheets,

cauterize the wound;


/cruel antidote, quick evil courting

Well, the light stalks the strange ceaseless days

—If I wished, I could go, but I think, for a drink, I’ll stay.

Now please, consider me

pre: your next manhandle;

a tossed flippant doll,

drowning in kerosene.

Here, I’m still burning,

“too much to handle,”

:—call me, marriage vandal,

floor-writhing yearning.

I felt lachrymose;

bespoke identity.

Toxic fume ingest:

a short Philos-remedy.

/cruel oxygen, quick evil warning

Well, the light’s spit reminds ceaseless days

—If I wished, I could go, but I think, I—, I cannot stay.

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