Sabrinathehungrywitch -

For the first time in years, she wept. Not tears. Ash. Gray and dry, crumbling on her cheeks.

By twenty, Sabrina’s cottage leaned drunkenly into a swamp, its chimney belching purple smoke. Her cauldron was always simmering. Her pantry was a museum of lost things: jars of forgotten promises, tins of stolen laughter, a flask of regret so thick it moved like molasses. sabrinathehungrywitch

Sabrina laughed. It sounded like dry leaves skittering over bones. For the first time in years, she wept

“Please,” the girl whispered. “I’m lost. They say you take hunger away.” For the first time in years

Her skin turned the color of ash. Her eyes became two black pits where stars went to die. Her fingers elongated into twigs that stirred the air like spoons.