On the thirteenth day
of the hottest noon of summer,
the Witch cracked seven mirrors
while dancing with her black cats.
Her neighbors whispered of unluck,
painted blood crosses over shut doors,
self-flogged for mercy
and screamed prayers of, “Forgive her!”
By sunset, the lone Witch stood
on an in-between place; ready for the oncoming fight—
mirror shards and hissing cats offer some protection,
but the most ruthless of the Fair Folk would not resist
the alluring call of fresh blood and fear-fattened screams.
for Magpie Tales 278