The silver tongue of that thinning moon was licking me in just the right places, and I crept from my bed like a lust-drunk and..
These are the days of the late-winter ache, and I’ve learned to hear the haunted call of those never-born-always-dead hags who are wiser than I..
She came to my door fire-eyed this morning, retching pomegranate juice and demanding to know where my underworld words come from. I told her I..
I wouldn’t bother her. Not today. Best keep those formalities tucked away in your pockets for those mannerly friends blessed with visions tamer than hers,..
Don’t follow me; not tonight. That holly-haired hag of wintertide is lurking ‘round the edges of these forbidden lands, and only shecan properly eulogize the..
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..