The heather was the color of strangled indigo in the pre-dawn light.
I traveled in winged serenity as I approached the sacred grove.
My sisters gathered under the sheltering oaks to celebrate our sunrise rites.
I joined with them, sky-clad, a whirling mass of dancing whims and limbs.
The sanctimonious inquisitors hungered to scent our flesh in their fire.
I closed my eyes and saw them slouching behind brutish faces,
in the cavernous church, where they knelt in communion
with their wrathful god, taking the body of Christ, swallowed in empty vows .
Their frosted intentions heavy with the weight of sour deceit,
convincing themselves their bloodthirsty plans were holy and righteous.
I called the Watchtowers and cast The Circle, in fellowship with my sisters.
We beseeched the Goddess to attend us, as we cast their intentions back upon them.
"As ye would sow, so shall ye reap, to the power of three, so mote it be"
The chant began in barely audible whispers as we danced the circle,
our eyes locked on the fire at its center, as the chant's volume increased.
We shared a vision of the dim interior of the church, where our would-be tormentors knelt.
As we drew their planned violence against us from their minds and hearts,
they became aware of an unnatural wind, within solid oaken walls.
Terror blanched their skin as the candles overturned and leapt into a merry conflagration.
The wood of the floor, pews, and very altar burst preternaturally into the inferno of their intent.
Shrill screams accompanied their frenzied attempts at escape, but the way was blocked.
Their features melted into hideous caricatures of the demons we were accused of dallying with.
Thirteen serene faces, petals of innocence on a flower of justice, glowed in the light of the fire.
"As ye would sow, so shall ye reap, to the power of three, so mote it be"
"As ye would sow, so shall ye reap, to the power of three, so mote it be"
"As ye would sow, so shall ye reap, to the power of three, so mote it be"
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