Midnight-seance to summon the dead

Another cloudy night rolls in covering the last of the twilight sky, as if the blackness failed to come fast enough. The rolling grey rapidly becomes as invisible as the stars it conceals, but the air still feels humid. The low sky imparts a claustrophobic tension that the witch enjoys. The cloud fails to blanket the sky, instead it is sporadic, chaotic in where it chooses to be thick or sparse. In the gaps the sky has darkened; the clouds are no longer white or paler grey, instead they are blackened shadows that shift with the wind. There are times they move just enough to reveal the full moon, but for the most part this night will be without the benefit of her silvery light.

The witch scowled into the gloom of the night, following the path of the road and pulled her feathers from the thatch of black hair on her limbs. The effect was to make her look more deranged. The hair had been hacked in random stabbing motions, presumably by a person with no patience and less eyesight- and indeed it had. Beneath the crude mop of fur was a face less appealing than onion eye-drops, at least, in her opinion. She was never one for beauty or for believing there is anything by it, she prefered intelligence and strenght over such frivial interest. What use could she have for grooming? The more gruesome she was the more others would not approach her. In her mind, it was a win.