Come, pilgrim. Rest here in my garish summer garden. I’ve just poured fresh moon-blood on rosemary in the name of the Cailleach, and I’ve nothing..
Ah, yes. I remember now. This righteous May moon is swelling between my ribs as it always does, lifting these aging breasts a bit higher..
It’s been too long, heathen. How I’ve missed those black-mirror eyes of yours! How I’ve missed those twisted-mouth expressions that relentlessly pull the secrets from..