Coven

Not knowing the faces, not hearing the names, vaguely aware of their lonelinessless, the nine gathered in a coven.

With some of them I went through a lot, with others I haven’t even spent a full day. To some I was close, but others I haven’t even touched. It would be possible to go deep into this if it mattered, but each of them is now gone — and this is more important. Each disappeared and took something from me, as a sacrifice to knowledge, that I will never be able to return back. And I would hardly want to.

Instead of what was irretrievably lost, remained only a clearing in the middle of the forest, trampled by the crazy dances of the sabbath. As you get closer, you can notice that some witch tracks are clearly visible and deeply embedded in the ground (as if someone tried to trample a pit leading to hell), while others are barely noticeable and will be washed away by the nearest light rain or dispelled by the wind. But it doesn't matter, because every mark affects the landscape — what happened happened forever.

Yes, there were nine of them. And this collection is dedicated to them.