My Dearest of Weirdlings, The Season is upon us. Can you hear the rumbling of the earth beneath your feet? Can you hear the whispers on the wind? The spirits are stirring. The shadows are stretching themselves awake. Blood hungry knives rattle in their drawers. Masks itch to crawl and anchor themselves upon your visage.
The Season is Upon Us
The Season is Upon Us
The Season is Upon Us
My Dearest of Weirdlings, The Season is upon us. Can you hear the rumbling of the earth beneath your feet? Can you hear the whispers on the wind? The spirits are stirring. The shadows are stretching themselves awake. Blood hungry knives rattle in their drawers. Masks itch to crawl and anchor themselves upon your visage.