A pure veil of darkness.A mysterious fog.The Moon is full.And the Wolves you call. Red as my blood it is the sky above us.As I witness the arrival of the Winter Solstice.And I cry from the abyss with the legions of Lilith.Who grant me, son of Goat, the virtues if the black oath.And I clime
‘It is the dawn of a new morning at the Mountains of Silverand I would rather live in the ice than in the middle ofthe modern virtue and other southern winds’(Friedrich Nietzsche) When the cold winds blows the fog awayreleasing dark shining shapes of a mystic forest.I embrace the NightfallOld voices from ancient Witches announcethe
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