The tribe of hooded ones cast their robes to the ground then, again sky-clad in the waxing moonlight, and invigorated by keen knowledge of their own divinity. Hand in hand, they began the ancient spiral dance, weaving around and through the standing stones with the graceful ease of every temple ...
Witch, you were born wild, and they tried to make you forget your birthright every Sunday. They threatened you with nightmarish visions, and put images you never could have conjured on your own into your little-girl psyche; they planted these fears there, hoping they would take root. Tear them ...