Between Bruises and Blooms
-
In a ruined chapel of ravens and ivy, one candle burns for the women history called wicked because they refused to disappear quietly.
-
The deck never predicted the future; it simply kept refusing to let her lie about the present.
-
A worn deck becomes less about prophecy than permission—to rest, leave, grieve, become, and trust her own choices.
-
A jar left beneath the full moon looks unchanged by morning, yet somehow carries enough light to make transformation feel possible.
-
The women they called dangerous were often simply the ones who learned to survive without asking permission.
-
By six o’clock, the house finally loosens its grip and ordinary chaos settles into a golden, temporary quiet.
-
The hour before evening softens the day’s sharp edges and gives a tired house one small place to exhale.
-
Between shadow and soul, bruises, grief, cigarettes, rescue, and blooming all belong to the same map of becoming.
-
Strength does not always look like taming a lion; sometimes it has four small hands reminding a mother why she keeps going.
-
She went looking for somewhere to put her grief and found the moon, the forest, an abandoned house, and eventually herself.
Between Bruises & Blooms 