Fate of a Yeti
There lived a Yeti named Greghou who lived on top of mount Kathmandu, in his ghoulish castle with his watchful vassal the young and pretty Florine. Greghou’s face was marred by the horrid snowstorms but his eyes had kept the glow of the kid he was. He chased after lost travelers trapped in the Himalayan weather making their fate far more bitter by sticking his dagger in and out of their liver. Florine made a wonderful stew of limbs and organs that she served her master in the family room. It wasn’t much of family room though, as Greghou’s father had died some years earlier from a terrible disease cast by man, making the young Greghou the last remnant of a dying species. Greghou hadn’t always been this morbid and had expressed his passion for becoming the greatest Yeti dancer the world had ever known. His father had laughed and replied: “My dear son, you see this portrait of your great-great-great-great-grandfather the brave Isaker, he first came here 400 years ago and killed humans until his dying days. It is then your duty as it was mine to keep doing what we have always done and maintain our prideful ways; to kill, eat and sleep.”
So when Florine asked him why he was in such a macabre mood he got very angry and told her it was his duty to feast on human flesh, and that frankly she was getting quite too outspoken. “There is still time Greghou, be who you’ve always wanted to be as your father can’t judge you from his grave” she said. So the Yeti master cut her tongue so she may never doubt the grand ways of his ancestors. He then ate his meal as joyfully as he could quite remember.
Some say a hint of a smirk could then be seen on the austere portrait of the great Isaker.
"Que m'importe que tu sois sage? Sois belle! Et sois triste!." Charles Baudelaire