fiona

The sorceress cradles her dried and kinked herbs in a small vessel; sacred and powerful. As the ceremony of life ceases, the ritual thereby begins. The element of fire, in its entrancing nature, flows and flickers from the brunt of the torch, as the sorceress joins its hot, flaming mass to the cluster of sacred herbs. As the two forces melt into one, clouds of smoke begin to billow from the glowing embers, gathering around her as she inhales the sweet dying aroma, breathing it into her body, from the depths of her belly to the heights of her head, into the far reaches of her exploring mind. Slowly the visions of truth manifest in her mind's eye and she begins to realize: that's some good shit, man.