Dust Devil

[crossconnectmag]

by Tom Hegen.

Aerial exploration of abstract and organic shapes of sand dunes in the Namib desert, Africa. 

[dirt-legends]

Following a lone moto down Potash Road 

[spectrologie-deactivated2023041]

Witold Ziomek

[grimoirebabylon]

Some witches’ favorite weeds-

Poisons: Hemlock, Henbane, Deadly Nightshade, Wolfsbane, Moonflower Not poisons: Wormwood, Mugwort, Mandrake, Enchanter’s Nightshade These images are part of a much longer article I wrote here called A Witch’s Guide to Wormwood, which you should read if you haven’t already. I send out a newsletter every new and full moon, and wormwood was my theme for the Worm Moon. 

[kahleatempest]

Bad Dreams

She hopped up the stairs to the office and opened the door. He’d called for her so she didn’t feel the need to knock as entered. “You called Shadow?” “Pallas this kind of casual behavior will not fly any longer.”

She pulled up short, stung by the words and the eyes across the way. This was not her Shadow, no. this was much too young and his eyes lacking any mirth that might have glimmered at her antics.

“Roanvi…” He pointed in front of the desk. “Stand here Pallas.”

Her feet moved without thinking about it. The Shadow spoke and the Agent responded. Not always blindly but there was no reason not to obey. Her heart pounded in her chest as he came around the desk, staring down through her eyes and into her bones with those cold eyes.

“Jacket. Off.”

Off came the soft Avory leather jacket, showing off slim but toned arms with their thin scar lines here and there. He circled her and it took every shred of will power to keep her fingers relaxed, to keep electricity from sparking between her tips.

“Take the rest off, boots, trousers, shirt.”

She blinked, and half turned to question him, though it died on her lips as she met his gaze. Swallowing around the sudden dryness in her mouth, she removed the other layers until she was only in her underclothes, staring dead ahead at the desk that SHOULD have had another man.

Again he circled, too straight too casually dismissive to even be called prowling. He stopped behind her and stood for what seemed like an eternity. When he spoke it was so close to her ear she flinched.

“You’re sloppy Pallas. Everyone else indulges you, but I won’t. You want to be the best Agent he has and yet you’re fettering around when you should be working.”

Her stomach turned to ice as the words were hissed.

“…don’t despair. You won’t go to waste. I can still fix you.”

She hadn’t even registered the cane that hit the back of her knees and brought her straight down to the floor. The pain was unexpected and she gasped as she shifted to kneel where she’d gone down, flinching at the hand that landed light as a feather on her head.

“We’re going to start over Pallas. Lesson one…”

She woke with her limbs refusing to move, shakily sucking in a half breath. It caught painfully like all the air had been forced out of her lungs in her sleep. When she could breathe again she convinced her limbs to curl into a ball. Just a dream.

Just a dream.

[roanvi]

Love and permutations thereof

The bathwater... lukewarm. Really about all you can get up here. I’m fond of Scholar’s Cleft though- the snow cherries at this time of year are always breathtaking. Ashton seems to be enjoying their beauty also. Ashton. How do I feel about Ashton? She loves me. Do I love her?

Love... scares me.

My father loved my mother. And look where we ended up - in the arid wastes.

With father in effect abandoning me entirely for crimes I had nothing to do with. 

With mother wildly in love with whatever in the name of Abbadon and the other Dead Gods Isambard is or will become.

Love hurts people. Love makes people crazy.

I’m not sure if I even can love, to be honest.

But Ashton loves me.

She’d be a good mask for my work, I must confess.

Maybe I should just say it and thrill her. Marry her, get her with the children she wants - assuming I haven’t already. It would do well for my façade.

Why even hesitate? The logic holds up and the balance sheets likewise.

[roanvi]

Behind mirrors

I had an odd childhood. We all do, but I feel like mine probably fits better than most. My mother, Eira Seithrnine, was a bandit chief. She didn’t start that way. When I was born, she was a pampered mistress to my noble father. My infancy was spent in a lovely cottage in Shaemoor.

But life happened, things changed, and suddenly my comfortable cottage and pretty garden was turned into the Silverwastes. Dust in my nose, choking me. No more friendly gardeners. Just bandits.

Oh, mother would have slit their throats if they looked at me askance, but it was.. a shock. And then my uncle would arrive and bring me back to Kryta, to Queensdale, to study in the elegance of a beautiful manor amid rolling manicured lawns. Half the year I was a wild bandit boy in short order, practicing my aim with a pistol that Akish gave me. The other half I was a good student, learning about poisons and deception from my uncle the assassin. My golden laughing father was like a distant sun in my life. When I was little, he dandled me, bounced me, told me stories. But things change, don’t they. Things changed. It was years before I learned about all that my half siblings did. Why mother left, and for who. Why my adored Papa suddenly became so distant and remote. I only met my mother’s new lover when I was older. He also avoided me. I could see that my existence offended him. I don’t think mother ever caught that. A different uncle.  Growing up with two such dangerous uncles isn’t simple.

But nothing in my life ever has been.