warrior woman rising
For now, we are full of faith in the fertile dark, and we are fed to the brim with all the Primal Feminine food we need to carry us through these longest nights.
Being a woman is exhausting. Messiahs are cows that die to feed the masses with their carcasses, and cows cannot become God.
The Death Priestesses are the chosen ones who swim in this chaotic soup of righteous rage and power-hunger willingly, who do not fear the breakdown, the loss, and the dark void of absolute nothingness as others do.
You’re here now, and that’s all that matters. Put on the bone-and-antler crown I made for you, and I’ll grow my horns long to match yours.
When I was good, I was a sensitive and sweet-blooded Witch indeed. My ethics were impeccable, and my magick was so diamond white it could blind an angel.
Their eyes will get wild, and their hair will come undone. They’ll lift their chins and dig their manicured nails into their palms.