Once the witch was placed next to the window nailed shut, he would enter the room and ask her to relief the world from her voice too sweet.
„But I haven‘t even said anything“, she would whisper.
„So you will never know the blessing of silence“, he would respond.
Once her hands were in chains and bound behind her back, he would sit next to her and ask her to stop bleeding.
„But you cut through my skin“, she reminded him.
„And you are unable to heal“, he stated.
Once she was resting on hay and on mold, he would look right into those infectious witching eyes and ask her to confess.
„But I haven‘t done a thing“, she would say.
„Not one single thing?“
„Not one thing.“
„So you will never know the joy of forgiveness“, he judged.
I wish I’d told you all my stories.
I want to tell you all my storiesIt’s not that they would changeIt’s just that I would likeTo see themFormA new expressionOn your face I need to tell you all my storiesI am not sureIf they makeSenseThe way I thoughtThey do. I will tell you all my storiesThey frighten meI’m sure you won’t endureI see…
Dealing with darkness in writing
This spring afternoon is glowing pink and tastes like strong tea. It feels much too familiar, and I begin to open up.I feel far away from myself as I start to talk, to babble on about my novel. About all the things I’ve been reading about in the past 5 years. About the 17th century,…
Radical witching novel rewrites at 4 AM!
I wore the same night dress my witch used to wear to get drunk on my windowsill, when I suddenly had an idea at 4 AM. Great ideas always happen at 4 AM, remember? This one however, kept me awake for at least a week, debating it back and forth. At some point my witch…
Mistress witch writes 