A very brief experiment at writing with only those words which according to Google Maps are the names of places somewhere. Pardon the cliffhanger, but the rest of this sordid tale may be best left to the imagination.
“Pity me, high lords of Dragonville, once the home of old Mathias Starcross,” said sick Clara Vale, “and young Thomas Starcross, help thou now this sad lady. Kept alone, roughly used below a hot furnace Vulcan kept burning well, ever under pain of a whip and blades...” She felt her shoulderblade scar. “We beg help and protection: only such hope have we thrall folk.”
Thomas, mad but lusty, and ever a nasty crackpot, came close, and struck. His lips felt more bitter than wormwood: a little more even than kissing a dead horse, maybe. But horseheads will not start licking, nor prod lower down. Clara Vale had not seen this risk...