I had received missives from Malphas while I was away on the last trip to the Path of Vau. They were short and to the point and I swear I could hear him giggle in nefarious delight. Would I be a dear and obtain a crow feather for him? The largest that I could obtain, and prepared for use as a writing quill, if it wasn’t much of a bother.
2,063 words.
“Raven. Hello.” My shroud is in tatters, exposing one breast. I care not for my modesty. The ravens had torn it in their… play… with me earlier. I bore fresh gouges on my shoulders from them. Gouges that were packed with bone ash after. The wounds will scar as was their intention. But I do not understand why.
620 words.
Blessings Darlings!
There’s a lot of references to “The Witching Hour” in popular culture. Mundanely, it can refer to the time of day when things are at their worst – the rush time a job, the time of day when the newborn is ALWAYS cranky(…)
“Yea!” “We have Reenactment Thursdays!” “Donuts and coffee on Tuesdays!” “It’s always Tuesday.” “I’m not complaining!” “Nothing hurts anymore and I don’t worry about shit anymore.”
1,236 words.
Blessings Darlings!
A recent question, not asked to me exactly, but posted online: “This is going to sound silly, but I love to have all my pieces with me,
particularly the ones that function as jewelry, so my question(…)
I don’t know why I feel like I’m saying ‘goodbye’ for the last time to Snake. Why I feel like I’m going to my death. As if regardless if I am successful and able to answer Lord Asmodel’s summons or not, I will be irrevocably changed and the Weaver that returns will be nothing like the Weaver that left. I reflect on the few times in this life I have felt the same impending destruction. The memories do nothing to settle my stomach and I force my mind blank.
I pull the Thoth Hierophant card from my pocket. “Open the way to the Path of Vau, that I may proceed!” The character in the card turns his hand in the same gesture as turning a key. There is a flash of light followed by the dissolution into darkness.
4,112 words.
This first prayer is one I use when making offerings, but it could easily be adapted to use as an invocation in ritual:
Prayer to Flidais Foltchaoin
Flidais of the soft hair
Lover, wife, and mother
whose magical(…)
There was only me, the devastation, and the sound of a little girl crying. I took a step, and noted I wore no shoes, but had panther feet. I was in the deathshroud of a Boneburner. Black raven wings came from my back, and my hands were more talon than human. I wore my deathmask, but it was featureless.
To my surprise, I found a familiar cord tied around my waist. Hanging off the cord was Horatio’s skull trinket, and a pair of iron skeleton keys of different lengths. The cord was securely knotted. I wondered why those would show up when I was in Boneburner mode but was soon distracted from the musing.
I took another step. The crying stopped. I didn’t need the sound to find her. I could smell her. It took some digging, but I found the girl’s broken body. Her spirit was trapped within it. As I pulled her free and picked her up, she started crying again.
4,904 words. Reader discretion is advised.
From Tumblr, an anonymous person asked: “Hi! New reader and I am lost/confused about the shells that have been mentioned, and the “high price” that was paid for them. What was the price?”
691 words.
“Another coffee, Sir?” He looked up grudgingly at the waitress. He noticed her pot was only a quarter full. It was all he could do to keep from launching into a verbal educational moment right then and there.
“Do you think I’m addled? That I can’t see because I’m twice your age? That’s an old pot and you’re trying to shove it off on me! Make me a fresh pot! Don’t serve me your leftovers! I should talk to the manager about this! This is horrible treatment! Don’t you know what I’ve gone through in my life!”
1,545 words.