I love reading this, I will and could continue to read it every day as I am woken at 3am wondering why am I awake? I’ve learned to say it’s the witching hour and just be and enjoy it!
This is deliciously dark and atmospheric — it reads like the opening of a midnight ritual, heavy with lore and rhythm. I especially love the line “the veil between this world and the next becomes translucent” — it’s both eerie and poetic. The escalating drumbeat and chants give it a pulsing energy, like something ancient reawakening. You’ve conjured a truly haunting scene.
I can feel the witches and night creatures rising in this one. As a night owl, I love it and feel an urge to hoot. I love the picture, too. Awesome post, Rea.
Babies do always seem to know the truth.
Strange that, isn’t it Josh?
I love reading this, I will and could continue to read it every day as I am woken at 3am wondering why am I awake? I’ve learned to say it’s the witching hour and just be and enjoy it!
There you go Alicia. Must be the witch in you. 🎭
She is needing to be seen and felt. And wow there a lot of nausea that comes with her. And I am allowing it and allowing. Thank you!
Give her power girl!
I could feel the drumbeat rising in my chest as I read, like standing just outside a sacred circle, watching something ancient awaken.
I love it when readers feel what I write. Thank you!
This is deliciously dark and atmospheric — it reads like the opening of a midnight ritual, heavy with lore and rhythm. I especially love the line “the veil between this world and the next becomes translucent” — it’s both eerie and poetic. The escalating drumbeat and chants give it a pulsing energy, like something ancient reawakening. You’ve conjured a truly haunting scene.
Thank you Mymy! I am happy you enjoyed it.
You're welcome :)
I’ll meet you where the flagstones lay
Chalk in hand, candles in my purse
We’ll drink the unholy wine as we sing and dance
Celebrate the birth, the darkness let loose as the drums beat the rhythm of our hearts
And we witness the opening of hell and the running of the hordes
Long is the race, short is the night, so we must pack it all in
Let not one desire, one wish, or one boon go wasted
For that is the only sin we can commit.
We'll cackle like old crones, dragging their bodies behind us.
Toasting our victories with ancient Alban.
They will be bags of bone, light on flesh and heavy in years.
A deal is a deal and when payment is due we collect.
The ancient contracts upheld and enforced, drunk with the years ahead of us until it is out turn.
I love you Emma!
I can feel the witches and night creatures rising in this one. As a night owl, I love it and feel an urge to hoot. I love the picture, too. Awesome post, Rea.
I’ve been hearing an owl in the trees late at night for a while now. 🤔
Thank you Travis!