The church is quiet as I light the last candle in the row, closing my eyes and murmuring a desperate prayer. A cold whisper of a draft blows against my neck, and when I open my eyes, my candle is the only one lit.
Sea salt in her hair A breeze on her lips Her hands clasp a cup From which only she can drink Her throne a thousand pebbles Smoothed by sands of time Her crown woven by grasses From dunes rising tall behind The sky a cloudless blue Sunshine warms her face The sound of lapping waves Holds her in an embrace Eyes closed, head back Floating in an abyss In her mind’s eternal depths Nothing is amiss
Cold, damp dirt clung to my fingers and caked my broken nails as I stared at the empty grave I had just dug up, shivering. A quiet voice behind me whispered, “I told you I wouldn’t be there.”
anxiously waiting tension building, danger lurks screams cut through the night ****** My own photo taken at Scarrigan Farms in Mooresville, NC. Would highly recommend if you are ever in the area!
light the candles burn the sage spread tarot cards for a Wicked October
the sun sinks low bat wings rustle overhead it’s my time to rise
My favorite part of travel is finally walking through the plane door and getting that first taste of new un-inhaled air
I love this almost wordless animation by Lehan Morley of Edgar Allen Poe’s The Masque of Red Death. The animation has an almost water color look, and each scene has one of the distinct color palette’s mentioned in the original short story.
He wore the perfume of death brewed from the souls he took it floated off his breath He wore the perfume of death the ink still wet on names recorded in his book He wore the perfume of death brewed from the souls he took
the siren song calls harmonizing with the dirge of those who listened