I am running.
Barefoot.
Through the freezing fucking taiga.
Midnight trees whip past like judgntal skeletons. The cold stabs every exposed inch of , which — spoiler — is most of , because I was still painted in sacred sex-swirl warpaint and a gauzy shawl when I bolted.
Behind , faint echoes of laughter. Singing. Chanting. The clank of a ladle against a pot.
Gods. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.
They ate him.
That poor trinket paddler with the crooked smile and the dumb flute and the bag full of glass beads and wish stones. He wandered into our little mossy sisterhood circle, asking if anyone wanted “blessed acorns of virility.”
And for a mont, it was all giggles and herbal moonshine and “show us your third eye, traveler.”
Next mont?
He was bubbling in the cauldron.
They called it Bone Broth of the Moon Womb.
I call it What the Actual Fuck.
“Protein,” they said.
“Sacrant,” they whispered.
“Marinade,” one of them giggled.
I nearly vomited.
So I faked it. Clutched my belly and moaned like a bad actress in a morality play. Claid the sacred mushrooms triggered my womb serpent or whatever the hell they believe in.
Fern rubbed my back.
Moss lit a calming incense.
Thistle narrowed her eyes and handed a “purging root.”
I nodded, shuffled off into the trees, doubled over and groaning.
And then I ran.
Bolted.
Naked, dazed, reeking of lavender ash and lightly roasted man stew, I’m now crashing through the woods like a haunted deer.
Every branch scratches. Every puddle is ice. My tits are frozen. My thighs are screaming.
This is how horror stories get started.
This is why mothers tell their daughters not to talk to forest won with berry-stained mouths.
Giggling, moon-drunk witches with twitchy smiles and protein deficiencies.
Cannibalism, they said, was an ancient rite.
I say they need therapy.
Or salt.
Gods, I think I actually liked Fern.
I duck under a pine bough, stumble, scrape my knee on a root and hiss, “Fuck!”
Sowhere in the distance, a wolf howls.
Great. Just great.
Naked, lost, and possibly marinated. This winter can suck my nonexistent priestess dick.
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