witchy poetry
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The forest seems to understand wounded things, sending home a kitten whose thorns are only fear wearing fur.
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A little feral creature arrives with claws, teeth, and every reason not to trust hands—then slowly discovers what softness can mean.
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At a house no map can find, Hekate does not choose the road—she only asks which version of yourself is ready to walk it.
Between Bruises & Blooms 