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Monday, 13 January 2020

The Sorcerer’s Apprentice

Photo-story from Janus 51 and the final part of the Sarah Jane trilogy, in which she transforms into a leather-capped dominatrix.
VARNA is a nasty lady, a ghastly lady, spiteful and stern. She is into controlling girls for the weird joy of exercising her dominant power over some spellbound though voluntary bauble of a girl. Many are attracted to the sharp end of her masterful will by the sheer intensity of her character, whose essence has been augmented by prolonged dabbling in certain occult arts. She is like a huge magnet, or a spider in a web of power. Most of her acquaintances — she has no friends — are bisexual; every single one is female. She is a hateful bitch or an accomplished witch, whichever way you are privileged to see her. Her aura is sinister or magically alluring, according to your point of view. Whatever she has, it works.
The sheer power of the woman — who is not really like a woman at all, more a living mythological figure — at first entrances and then overwhelms a sprinkling of gullible, malleable teenaged girls, generally 19 or so, It happens over and over again… every now and then.
Sarah Jane has proved susceptible to Varna’s influence. But not in the normal manner. Sarah Jane is on the same side of the chasm as her Commandante. She began to dream mysterious dreams after meeting her for the first time. The most disconcerting thing was that on the eve of each of these revelatory phantasies Varna had phoned her to tell her she had ‘been informed’ that Sarah would dream a dream that night. Every time, she did. It was almost frightening, this psychic spying. But those dreams had been so fantastic, and so sexual in mood: she had seen herself; felt herself, heard herself speak as a quite other self — as a sadistically-dressed young princess of glamour and beauty, entrusted by the arch-goddess VARNA with a measure of her exhilarating, self-exalting power… power over someone. That someone was always a girl. It was very odd because Sarah Jane had never dreamed such dreams before — but their explosive intensity rather dimmed her normal, if hitherto vigorously healthy, interest in boys. At the same time she had a feeling of being chosen, of having received an invitation to enter a mystery order where everything she wished to name her will would come true with Varna’s help. This fascination was so immense she could not possibly resist it; her inmost soul seemed to beckon her on into a wonderful, enlarged identity just when everything had been at its worst for her. She became Varna’s acolyte and disciple.
Shortly afterwards, Sarah Jane experienced a reversal in her love life. Her number one boyfriend ran off with a very ordinary and simple girl named Mary, who in her embittered state seemed to Sarah Jane to have nothing whatever to offer him. She felt hurt; she wanted vengeance. Nothing less than the total abasement of her rival before her in the chilling, intimidating, paralysing and frightening atmosphere of Varna’s black-walled vault. Herself enthroned and vicious, putting her usurper back in her tiny place, making her squirm and grovel and beg for mercy — but Mary would get no mercy. A far more exciting notion to Sarah Jane than merely having her boyfriend returned. She didn’t want that — unless it was to put him through hell.
‘Bring Mary to me. Just get her here,’ Varna said coldly one day, bulging-eyed and scowling-jowled. ‘I’ll put a elxclxclx on her.’ The rest is history.

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