Category: Mystic & Magic by Andrea Tillmanns Don’t worry, my dear: The herbs in my garden are harmless, old and tame is the raven on my shoulder, the words in my books sing of no evil. And when we go dancing in the...

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Drip drip. Drip drip.
Drip drip. Drip drip.
And so it all began, at those few moist drops upon the brow.
Drip drip. Drip drip.
Some rhythmic prodding, and the barest spark of awareness.
Drip. Drip. Drip.
Slow. Steady. Soon to be transformed into far more complex a sensation.
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