She passed by the forgotten graveyard tossing
some roses
And the exorcised spirits there wondered.

Was she a witch with potent portions?
Would she magically swirl handfuls of hair of vexing townsmen?
Would that demon lover offer this back in the guise of mulled
cider?

They watched her walk away.
Watched her fading silhouette merge with the
blinding lightning.

Bizarre writer ▪ Messy crafter ▪ Insane mother

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