S. Elizabeth@ghoulnextdoor
Feral cthonic prunes
Feral cthonic prunes, a name scratched backward into their sticky surface, dropped into a thousand-year-old well. A cursèd exhale of incense, ghostly smoke, dank stone, a mist of acrid acid fog. Earthen, rooty, and funky, the damp, gloomy underside of things. Soil rich with a vein of raisin, chutney trapped in amber, wrapped in a leather scroll. Something that emerged from the crossroads' darkness, walks through shadows and leaves no footprints, something that demons would cross the street to avoid but that the wolves would follow home.