23 June 2015

Why I Slept Soundly

Sometimes Spirit with a capital "S" has a different plan in mind. It sweeps you up from your nest of books, hauls you out into the forests of suburbia, and takes you dancing. Dancing with bug-eyed faeries, wolf-grinning imps, and a single burning, coiling, twisting, turning Master. He dances you until you're ecstatic and delirious, barely keeping a hold on the memory of your own name as the stars rain down to burrow in your veins, blood and dust mingling to become witch.

My limbs ache and I am alive.

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