Something wicked this way comes
...autiful, but cold. Obsidian eyes glare into the surrounding billows of darkness, cold and sinister, seeming to see straight into and through everything. More shapes are clustered all around, and yet more are emerging from shadows. The calls of animals have died away, and there is silence but for the occasional snap of a twig beneath a booted foot, and the menacing rustle of leaves overhead. Moonlight seeps through the dense canopy, highlighting pale face, sheltered beneath a black velvet hood, billowing cape behind. As the foliage thins, more moonlight glistens through the leaves, shining down on the dark shapes, outlining them and bringing them into focus. Some are more hunched than others, as young and old cluster together for their forbidden forage. Hoods pulled low over their faces, they scutter along, growing rapidly in number, standing more upright, whispering together, clustered in huddles, silently trailing over the leafy floor. The breeze grows again, snatching off their hoods, and whipping swathes of midnight black hair around their cold faces. Stretching out, seemingly unified with the tempest of nature, several look up at the pale full moon, all the while whispering amongst themselves. The whispering grows, a rising crescendo of voices, old and young, sweet and low, as they slow. A gap in the trees ahead, moonlights filters though, gliding coldly over their fluttering skirts, the huddled forms of cats, midnight silk fur rippling under the moonlight as they stalk behind their mistresses. The sense of anticipation rises, a tangible taste in the chilled night air. Sweeping out into the clearing the beings stop suddenly, sensing another presence. A startled fox darts suddenly through the clearing, its bristled coat the only flash of colour in amongst the increasingly swaying trees and ethereal, dark, mysterious figures. Pacified the coven hurry around. Setting out in a preordained order a circle of stones and salt, completely silent but for the swish of bustling garments as they brush past each other. Almost as one, they step back, surrounding the circle, pressed together, standing shrouded in silence as they wait. One lone form steps into the circle, and raises her arms. In hushed whispers a chant begins, snatches...