Tristan Robert Lange
Devilishly Dreadful: The Undying Count
ACT I, The Rededication.
The tale of Villeroy, vile and evil Count
Of Zindorf, descendent of Zinzendorf.
He set out to undertake, surmount,
Recreate Herrnhut, rock hewn from its torf.
Built upon ancient pagan temple stone,
Villeroy believed he could purify land.
He built halls made for holy song alone—
Pious, holy, separated in bands.
It is then that I, Amelia, came,
To that terrible place—Zindorf Castle—
Highest devotee of The, here’s the name,
Devoted Women of Prayer—his vassal.
We stood there that day on that ancient ground,
Rededicated—not pagan—Christ bound.
ACT II, The Abbess.
From thenceforth I served under the abbess,
Lisbeth—Zindorf’s Mother of Devotion—
Different from my former I must confess,
Seemed mysterious, filled with emotion.
Within her power swelled in commotion,
And I found myself swooning to its hold;
Yet, my faithfulness was more than notion,
And I resisted, though feeble, her mold.
Over time, though, that resistance grew cold
Because Lisbeth showed me her truest love,
Devotion to Lilith—ours to behold—
Goddess spurned by men below, not above.
Villeroy thought Lisbeth was his very own;
Yet, he was really hers—brittle as bone.
ACT III, The Vigil.
Deep below the castle lay an old crypt
Once made sacred by Goddess worshipers.
She went within priestess of conjurers,
That Lisbeth truly did—was that a script?
Within, she had the whole inner hall stripped
Of the ornaments and the murmurers.
There, she brought in me and all wanderers—
Back then, my allegiance hadn’t yet slipped—
And she versed us in the songs of Lilith,
Goddess mother spurned by patriarchal men.
The Count thought it revelation for us,
Unaware she was subverting his myth.
She taught us all through song and through the pen,
How a man’s lust will always lead to thus.
ACT IV, The Hollow Chapel.
The spells from the chamber deeply took root,
Splitting the rock like vines of green ivy.
Each enchantment shook the place like a brute,
Here I record truth as great Livy.
Vile Villeroy did not even take notice,
As he was preaching to “good” men upstairs.
His sermon, though, came out soundlng like...
...men’s focus became hocus.
Villeroy’s body gone
Soul nailed into the walls
Lisbeth...most...vanished.
Smoke wafted.
I—only I—
Escaped.
ACT V, The Chronicle.
For centuries I have told my true tale,
Of the Count Villeroy of Zindorf Castle,
Who thought himself pure enough to upscale
Herrnhut’s queer way to being Christ’s vassal.
Of course, you know how tales turn out to be,
Others shared what they heard and it then grew
To be of a Count who was quite deadly—
Raising the dead with great magic he knew.
My words, as such, mutated over time
In sermons, pamphlets, and dreadfuls as well.
Still, no one remembers my name—sublime—
Only the dark monster I spoke from hell.
No more will any man find comfort here,
For Castle Zindorf will always spread fear.
© 2025 Tristan Robert Lange. All rights reserved.
First published on tristanrobertlange.com, October 27, 2025.
Tittu