Prologue
Seasons.
Seasons come and seasons go, and at the Coven Bristle Crios those seasons are each marked by a fete commemorated by the Moon above; the Blood Moon in the Autumn, the Snow Moon in Winter, and the Rose Moon that comes with the Spring.
Time.
These moons mark the passage of an entire year unto themselves; time being the variable that ever changes in each and every life, for the just and the unjust alike.
How then shall we spend this time, these years" Alone" Hunted" Questioning the merits and shortcomings of our existences, be they meek or grand - as in the darkest parts of the night our own mental solitude proves to be the great equalizer"
Or shall we come together?
In a place of our own choosing, of our own design - safe within walls literal and metaphorical, which we construct for ourselves.
And for those others in our lives that we love to much to abandon to the fickle fate that others would thrust upon them.
There are some places where the variables of time are hesitant to touch.
Some places where the seasons passings are hesitant to tread.
Hidden places.
Secret places.
Ever sacred, ever safe - where the walls are made of will, and blossoms grow fed on determination.
Gather together, all those who have seen it and have been granted entry...
Within the Gardens of The Moon.
Seasons.
Seasons come and seasons go, and at the Coven Bristle Crios those seasons are each marked by a fete commemorated by the Moon above; the Blood Moon in the Autumn, the Snow Moon in Winter, and the Rose Moon that comes with the Spring.
Time.
These moons mark the passage of an entire year unto themselves; time being the variable that ever changes in each and every life, for the just and the unjust alike.
How then shall we spend this time, these years" Alone" Hunted" Questioning the merits and shortcomings of our existences, be they meek or grand - as in the darkest parts of the night our own mental solitude proves to be the great equalizer"
Or shall we come together?
In a place of our own choosing, of our own design - safe within walls literal and metaphorical, which we construct for ourselves.
And for those others in our lives that we love to much to abandon to the fickle fate that others would thrust upon them.
There are some places where the variables of time are hesitant to touch.
Some places where the seasons passings are hesitant to tread.
Hidden places.
Secret places.
Ever sacred, ever safe - where the walls are made of will, and blossoms grow fed on determination.
Gather together, all those who have seen it and have been granted entry...
Within the Gardens of The Moon.