A moment
The warmth of the died down fire at my back; a cat's yawn; my scalp itching from the product that followed the hair cut too quickly for me to opt out.
Echoes of so many words ghosting through my mind, written and heard, many about sigils.
A small smile: the Queen in my hand craddles a tiny Oak leaf in hers-my mother's family's sigil. Years of ( Read more... )
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